


THE WASTELAND

by wordsbymeganmichael



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Magic, Wartime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25748383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsbymeganmichael/pseuds/wordsbymeganmichael
Summary: In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 92
Kudos: 70
Collections: Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2020





	1. PROLOGUE

“There has always been a war,” Prince David’s father always told him. In a way, he’s right. For as long as anyone can remember, as long as written history goes back, there  _ has  _ been the war, though what began as a magic versus non-magic fight has shifted into a power-hungry battle between two leaders — no matter who the leaders are. 

Centuries passed, generation gave way to generation, but the war has remained. New technologies have come and gone: horses gave way to trains, only to be replaced by cars and tanks; weapons have come and gone. 

But the War has remained. A few leaders have come along to try and stop the two sides from fighting, but none were strong enough to really stop the war, turning to the temptation of corruption before too long. Even the current King of the Gale, King George, started his rule as a kind and understanding ruler, but all it took to change that was the death of his wife, the King turning to dark magic in hopes of getting her back and only finding anger and corruption. 

The only thing that has spanned the ages is the War. 

The War, and the Wasteland. The two cities have grown, smaller hubs popping up where people have congregated, but the Wasteland remains, a large expanse of land that runs across the middle of the world where nothing will grow, where no people have congregated, barren of even animal life. And this has become the center for the War, home to makeshift barracks and trenches and destruction. 

Prince David dreams of a day when the world is a better place, somewhere that he’s not terrified to raise an heir, somewhere where there is more to live for than corruption and violence. But that day hasn’t come, not yet. 

* * *

According to some legends, there has never been a time when the Nephilim and the humans were  _ not  _ at war, but he’s too much of a cynic to believe that. Some part of him has to believe that there was a time, no matter how long ago, when the world was not drowning in war and hatred and destruction — because, if that’s true, then he can still believe that it’s possible for there to be a time  _ after  _ the war. That’s why he decided to fight for the Prince instead of the King; King George lives for war, for fighting, but his son, Prince David, helps men like Killian be sure that there is still good in the world, even when it seems impossible to find. 

Though, recently, this good has become harder and harder for him to find, and though he chose to fight for the Prince, he certainly didn’t choose to be captured by the enemy, tortured in hopes of revealing the Prince’s location. 

The rain pours down around him, pounding against his aching skin. It's cold, just shy of  _ too  _ cold, and Killian thinks that, maybe, if he could think straight, see straight, focus on anything beyond the sharp thrum of pain rolling through his body, it might even feel good. 

But nothing can feel good here, when everything around him is so terrible. His world is broken, his home is broken, his soul is broken, his skin is broken. In multiple places. Scars run up and down his arms, his shoulders, his torso. Gunshots, knife wounds, weirdly-healing scars from magic-users and weres and fae blades — and maybe even a few self-inflicted from his lowest moments. 

Not to mention his hand. The wound on his arm from the enemy Nephilim soldiers, the almost-unbelievably large were-shifter and the silent but sadistic fire-wielding sprite that helped torture him, was part of the worst pain he had ever felt. There was nothing he could do about the wound on his chest, the gash so close to his heart he feared they would pierce it, but the wound to his arm was another story. He’s seen a wound like that before, knows exactly the damage it would have across his body if the poison was left to spread, so he did the only thing he could think of to save himself, both from the poison and the chains that bound him and removed the rest of the limb with his own dagger. 

He raises his eyes from the ground, needing to focus on something other than the throbbing pain blurring the edges of his vision, some sort of goal that he can dedicate what is left of his quickly depleting energy to. And that's when he sees it, so bright and clear in the darkness of the stormy night that he's sure he's imagining it. But he heads towards it anyway, the bright red cross of salvation like a beacon of hope in front of him. 

By the grace of one of the higher powers — he honestly could care less about  _ which _ one —  _ no atheists in foxholes,  _ one of his superiors used to tell them — the door to the building is open, though the lights are low, only enough to light up the single aisle that runs between the beds that line the walls. There are only a few bodies in the beds — humans and fae of all kinds — and they all seem to be asleep, a fact that his entry to the hospital does not seem to have any effect on. But none of this changes the fact that he has no idea  _ where  _ he is, and — more importantly — whether he has made it out of enemy territory, which changes around these parts quicker than the tides. Somewhere in the back of his mind, in a voice that sounds startlingly like his brother's, he wonders if there is still any such thing as  _ safe  _ territory anymore. He has enough common sense left to drag himself through the aisle between the rows of bed and through a set of double doors, and into what looks like an office off to his left, before finally crumbling on the floor, thankful for the warmth of his new shelter before he finally —  _ finally _ , every bone in his body screams — succumbs to the pain and passes out. 


	2. THE HOSPITAL - Part 1

In all meanings of the word, Emma Swan is  _ tired.  _ First and foremost, she's emotionally exhausted, hasn't had a night of sleep without nightmares for months, even before the war started. She's tired of seeing families torn apart, or children born without knowing if they have a father or not. That's almost as bad as  _ knowing.  _ Almost. 

Most of all, though, she's tired of war. That's why she's here in the first place, helping bring life into the world instead of seeing it slip from her grasp out on the battlefield, where she was trained to be. Sick of  _ death _ , she says to herself for the hundredth time. 

She inserts her key into the lock, shrugging when she finds it already open. Maybe one of the other nurses beat her here, she thinks, but the thought is gone as soon as she pushes the door open. 

Blood. 

There is blood everywhere. 

Immediately, she goes on the defensive. This is what she trained for, yes, but it's not the life she leads anymore, hasn’t been for a while. (And a sight like this would never fail to catch someone off-guard, used to it or not.) She presses her thumb to the scanner on the lockbox next to the door, a worst-case-scenario precaution she hoped she never had to use, but when she feels the cool metal of the pistol in her fingers, the deafening pounding of her heart slows a tad, and a bit more when she turns back to the main room to find all the women still asleep in their beds. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t to one of her girls. 

“Emma, thank God.” The voice from behind her startles her even though it is one that she would recognize anywhere, but that doesn’t stop her from whipping around with the pistol held out in front of her, ready to strike. 

But, to her immense relief, it is exactly who she expects: Ruby, her head nurse and best friend. 

“Ruby, what happened here?” 

Running her fingers through her long, red-streaked hair, she begins to tell Emma as much as she knows. “I must have been asleep when he came in, though how he got through the door and past me is a mystery, and he couldn’t have been here long before the smell of his blood finally woke me up. No more than a few hours, if that. And all that I know is that he’s lost a  _ lot  _ of blood.” 

“Did you check on him at all? See what his wounds look like?” 

With her eyes turned to the ground, Ruby shakes her head, almost ashamed. “I knew — I didn’t trust myself, what with the blood shortage and all, but he’s—” When she does lift her eyes to meet those of her friend, they’re wide with something that Emma can only define as  _ fear _ . “I don’t know what he is, Em. I’ve never smelled anything like him before.” 

“You did what you could, Ruby,” Emma assures her. “I’ll — let me go see what we’re dealing with.” 

But Ruby stops her, a perfectly-manicured hand wrapped around her bicep. “Be careful, Emma. He could be dangerous.”

As silently as she can, and with Ruby’s last words echoing through her mind, she follows the trail of blood, large drops that turn to larger puddles as she gets closer to the door to the offices, ending as a large wiped smudge on the linoleum on the other side of the door, presumably where he — whoever  _ he  _ is — finally lost his footing. 

But the streak leads right into her office, and she is slightly shocked to find the door closed. 

Not as shocked as she is when she opens the door, though; because there, on the floor of her office, crumpled in a seated position against the front of her desk, is a man — a soldier, she assumes, though he is in jeans and a faded grey t-shirt instead of a traditional uniform. A very,  _ very _ wounded soldier, every inch of him covered in blood and mud, with the former even dripping from him in some places. Instinctively, she takes a quick inventory of his visible wounds: a gash on his forehead, a long slice along his cheek, lines down his bare arms. 

But the worst of it is his left arm, blunted halfway up his forearm and tied with a large, tight tourniquet, though not tight enough to completely stop the bleeding. Seeing the piles of it around the man's body, not to mention all he's lost on his way here, Emma questions for a moment how —  _ if —  _ he can even be alive, also questioning his age by his delicate features, by the dark hair that hangs down to his equally dark eyebrows. He can't be much older than she is, she thinks, hoping that he's more than just another loss of this terrible war.

And then he takes a long, hitching breath, letting out a low moan on the exhale. 

_ Good Lord. He's alive.  _

Emma falls to her knees in front of him, not even caring about the bloodstains that ruin her pants the moment they touch the ground. 

_ He's alive.  _

She reaches onto the shelf beside her, pulling one of the rags from it's pristine pile, using it to dab away some of the blood from his face. 

“You're okay,” she says softly, searching the cups on her desk for a cup not stained with leftover coffee, which she finds on the third try, closing her eyes to focus on filling the cup with water to dip the rag in, hoping the moisture will aid in clearing the crust from around his eyes. “You're going to be okay, do you hear me?” She has no idea where the words come from, but they seem to help, and after a few more groans, the man in front of her opens his eyes with a short yelp. 

Emma drops the rag, pressing her palms instead against his cheeks. In sharp contrast to his dirty skin, to his dark hair, dark clothes, his eyes are the brightest blue she has ever seen, and for a moment, staring into them pulls the breath from her lungs and makes it impossible for her to find it again for a drawn-out moment. 

“Hello,” she says finally, hoping that her smile hides the terror that suddenly fills her heart. She has no idea who this man is, what he is capable of, which side of this war he is on — or, perhaps most importantly, what brought him to  _ her  _ hospital, of all places. 

He has no answer for her, simply stares at her, bright eyes wide. Slowly, the smile fades from her face. 

“You're going to be okay. I don't know what brought you here, but I'm going to do everything I can to take care of you.” The source of the words is still a mystery, but as she says them, she realizes that every single one of them is true, no matter who he is. 

The corner of his lips ticks up into a momentary smile, though it quickly turns to a grimace when he realizes how much pain it causes him. He opens his mouth, Emma assumes to try to speak, but she stops him with a hand on his arm. 

“No, please, don’t. You’re— you lost a lot of blood, I don’t even know how you made it here alive, but I’m going to take care of you, okay?” 

Again, he tries to smile, and gets a little closer before the muscles in his face fight against the movement. So, instead of talking, he tries to move — slowly, with Emma’s eyes finding every movement of his muscles — his hand pointing first to the mug of water in Emma’s hand, then — slowly, carefully — to his mouth, though the fact that the very movement causes him pain is written plainly across his features.

“Shit, yeah, okay,” she mumbles, pushing herself up off the floor. “Let me — let me find you a clean cup.” 

If they weren’t in a time of war, she tells herself, her office would be more organized. Though whether that’s really true or not is something she may never know, since she has never known a world that is  _ not  _ suffering through war. She would like to believe that one day,  _ maybe _ , the world can be bright and healthy and good, but for now, she’ll just live with her messy desk — especially in times like this, rare as they may be, when the mess actually helps her, God forbid. It took three tries to find the mug that she filled with water to wipe the man’s face, and it takes her another two to find one already filled with water, this time worrying more about gnats and dirt and floaters than leftover coffee stains, but as she holds the worn ceramic up to his lips and slowly dribbles some into his mouth, she has a feeling that finding a gnat would have made it very high on his list of problems. 

Slowly,  _ slowly _ , he swallows, once, twice, his eyes tightly shut with all the pain he must be in, and then backs his head away from the mug, making some of the contents dribble down his chin and onto his dirty grey shirt. 

She cannot even begin to imagine the type of pain he must be in, between the gashes on his face, probably a broken rib or two (if not something more serious, like internal bleeding), not to mention his newly-blunted arm. But even the few drops of water must have felt like a godsend, and, with his head resting back against the front panel of her desk once more, he takes a slow, deep breath, not even seeming to mind his body’s reaction to it, and opens his eyes once more. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice cracked and hoarse, though better than Emma anticipated given his state. 

Still: “Shh, shh, don’t talk,” she says as calmly as she can, running the wet rag along his jawline again. “You have so many injuries — though,” she tries her best to smile, managing to catch a flash of brightness in his already shining blue eyes, “I’m sure you already know that. I don’t know what brought you to my hospital, but I can assure you that I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on your feet, okay? My name is Emma, and I’m going to take care of you.” 

He nods, slowly blinking his eyes, and Emma even dares to think she sees  _ hope  _ in them, a light that stays on his face even as he slips out of consciousness once more. 

With the help of Ruby, they carefully move him to the cot in her office, trying their best not to reopen any of the wounds that have managed to close, removing his worn grey tee-shirt to see what they have to work with. 

“Dear God.” 

Emma doesn’t even know what to say, but Ruby’s whispered curse almost covers it. 

It’s worse than she imagined.  _ Much  _ worse — and Ruby, not trained in field medicine like she is, has never seen anything like it (even during the time she spends in wolf form) and leaves the room with one of her hands covering her mouth. 

Emma doesn’t blame her. 

How he is still alive is a question that she seriously contemplates, carefully ghosting her fingers over the still-open wounds to make sure that it’s really real. She’s seen dark magic; she’s seen the damage that dark magic can inflict. But what she has never seen is dark magic that sticks around once the wielder is no longer inflicting, magic that shimmers and crackles like lightning across the skin. 

What she has never seen… until now. 

“What did they do to you?” she whispers, almost wishing she knew the answer, while at the same time thankful that she has never had to go through what this man has obviously been through. She dips her rag back into the new bucket of water, carefully dabbing the blood-covered skin of his chest, finding more small cuts and bruises with every new, clean inch, which she finds surprisingly easy to heal with her magic. 

When she makes it to his left pec, though — the spot immediately over his heart — she feels the breath escape from her lungs and finds herself unable to replace it. Not only is it worse than she imagined, but it’s unlike anything Emma has ever seen before. It shocks her.  _ Literally _ , the energy from the leftover magic reacts to hers and  _ physically  _ shocks her fingers. There’s a gash, a literal  _ gash _ across his heart that’s large enough she would be able to see into it if it were clean. 

What surprises her the most, though, is that it’s not bleeding. If it were bleeding, he would probably be dead, but this is somehow… 

Worse? 

It’s black. Shining, glimmering black, moving like the waves on the ocean. For a moment, Emma is entranced by the constant motion of it, and then it shocks her again, her magic crackling in response to it. She can’t imagine the type of pain he must be in, this dark magic gash so close to his heart. She can’t help herself and she stretches her fingers out to touch it, even through the crackling of her magic at the tips of her fingers, but when she comes in contact with it, it just feels like skin. As if there is nothing wrong with it at all. 

She finds herself thinking about his status, since he is not wearing the uniform of either side of the war —  _ but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an allegiance _ , she tells herself, carefully wiping away the dirt around the bleeding gash on his shoulder, a wound that barely missed the edge of an intricate ship’s helm and compass tattoo that runs to the end of his newly-blunted arm. Somehow, the wound that brought her the most surprise upon finding him seems to be the one that has started to heal the nicest, among those that respond to her magic instead of ignoring it entirely. Even so, a field amputation is not an injury to take lightly, magic or no, and Emma makes a mental note to find some stitches and a new tourniquet, just in case. 

Which isn’t going to be easy, with the enemy breathing down her neck. She doesn’t really even have enough morphine to treat him, since they’re mostly given pills to give to at the beginning of labor, plus a small and dwindling supply of IV drip in case the women lose consciousness.  _ Shit.  _ She hadn’t even thought about that. She’s going to have to make due with what she has left of that and her supply of sleeping pills until she can figure out how to get another order so soon without raising eyebrows. 

She’s going to have to contact David, though with the enemy lines shifting around her every day, whether it would even be feasible for him to come all the way out here is an entirely different problem. 

_ Morphine, tourniquets, stitching thread _ . 

She begins to make the list in her head, a sort of mantra as she continues to work her way across the cuts and gashes on his chest. She finds that many of them not only heal, but disappear without even a scar in a way that she has never seen before. She turns her attention to his face, specifically to the large cut that runs down his right cheek, but a low moan from the lips of the injured man stops her. 

_ “David.”  _

“That’s—” she says out loud, realizing she is speaking to a room empty besides a man who  _ needs  _ to be unconscious, who she assumed  _ was  _ given his tightly-closed eyes.  _ Impossible _ , she continues in her own head, going back to carefully wiping the blood and dirt from his impossibly-wounded chest. 

It  _ can’t _ be the Prince, she tells herself, tossing her soiled rag onto the floor and finding a new one from the shelf behind her. David is a common enough name, he must be speaking of someone other than the Prince, someone other than the man who is the closest thing to family that she has ever known. He  _ has  _ to be. 

“ _ David _ ,” he groans again, this time followed by, “No, no, Liam, please,” and if she weren’t kneeling above him, didn’t already have her hands on his chest, he surely would have thrashed off the bed. In catching him, holding him down, her fingers are wound through a chain that holds a collection of rings, each one as beautiful and intricate as the last, obviously well taken care of, besides the same signs of hardship that cover the rest of this man’s body. For a moment, she finds herself really  _ looking _ at him, at the ripples of muscle and dark hair that cover what she can see of his chest and stomach; at the collection of artistry she finds spread across his scarred skin; at his strong jawline and the long, dark eyelashes that rest against his cheeks — until he gasps, squeezing his eyes tight, and tries to thrash beneath her again.

With that, she reminds herself of her task at hand, that he is not here for her to marvel at (even being the most handsome man she has ever seen), and she stands once more, hoping that he doesn’t wound himself further in the minutes it will take her to gather more supplies from the stockroom. 

Ariel, one of her nurses, is in the basement, restocking the shelves when she makes her way down the steps. “Emma!” she says, somehow always chipper, even in the middle of an ever-present crisis. “How is our newest patient? Is he going to be okay?” 

All Emma can do is nod, finding the IV supplies she came down here for before adding a few coils of gauze to the pile in her arms. 

“He’ll — he’ll live, at least,” she mutters, but her mind is elsewhere, remembering the secret room that she built off the back of the basement, dreading the day she needed to use it — a day that, thankfully, had never come. 

Until now. 

“Well, that’s good at least. Ruby told me that he’s in pretty bad shape, but hopefully nothing that we can’t fix before we have to send him away—” 

Emma turns to her, her eyes suddenly snapping to attention. “Listen, you shouldn’t — you can’t mention him to anyone, or even around anyone. No one can know he’s here.” 

The smile fades from the redhead’s face. She simply nods. 

“Meanwhile,” Emma continues, turning back to the steel wall at the back of the hospital. “We have to move him down here, to the crisis room.” 

“Who’s looking for him?” 

Emma shakes her head. “I have no clue. But I do know that I’ve never seen dark magic like this, and that just makes me even more afraid. But until we figure it out, he’s not here, as far as anyone is aware.” 

Ariel nods again. 

“Would you be able to set up an IV for him? Make sure it’s clean enough for me to take care of him? I don’t want to move him again just yet, but I’m afraid this may be the only way to keep him safe.”

Emma pauses for a moment, wondering —  _ wishing _ — there was another option besides the crisis room, hoping that maybe this is all a bad dream that she’ll wake up from any moment. But the blood she draws from inside her bottom lip tells another story, and she nods before turning away. 

“Emma,” Ariel calls, and Emma has a feeling that she may have missed the first time. “I, uh, need you to open the room.” 

_ Duh.  _

“Of course,” she says, the ghost of a smile passing across her lips. She forgot the built-in safeties of the  _ safe _ room: the fact that only she can open the door, the magic-plus-biometric locks the best she could find when she was adding the room. “Right.” 

They move him later that day, once he comes back to consciousness, his body propped carefully between Emma and Ariel’s shoulders, walking half-on his own and half-aided by both Emma and Ariel’s magic. By the time they get him down the steps and onto the hospital bed, he’s only torn two of the stitches in his side, which were Emma’s last resort to stop some of the bleeding in the first place. 

Even with just the small amount of healing that Emma was able to do on her own, and the new morphine drip hooked up to his still-complete arm, he already seems to be in much better shape than before. 

“Thank you, Ariel,” she says, hoping that her tone of finality is enough to get her point across. Now that he’s conscious, she needs to talk to him, needs to figure out what brought him to her hospital — and she needs to do it alone. 

Ariel nods, either too exhausted to respond or picking up on Emma’s tone. “Let me know if I can help,” she says, leaving them behind without another word. 

When the door closes behind her, Emma turns to her patient, noticing the way his long eyelashes rest on his cheeks with his eyes closed. 

“Alright, listen,” she says, taking a seat in the chair set up next to the cot, and his eyes snap back open. “I need to — we need to talk about your situation here…” She wants to end the sentence with his name, hoping to make up for some of the bite behind her voice, but she realizes now that she’s never learned it. 

His face becomes an emotionless mask, his back even seeming to straighten a bit at the authority in her voice. So she tries to tone it down a little, offering a soft smile when he does dare to meet her eyes. 

“Can we start with your name?” she asks, trying to soften her voice. “Please?” Whether it works or not is unclear, but he seems to calm a bit either way. 

“Killian,” he says, his voice hoarse, and when he coughs to clear it, the pain on his face is obvious. “Killian Jones.” 

“Well, Killian Jones,” she says. “I’m Emma Swan.” 

He breathes out a small laugh, his hand squeezing into a fist on his ribs with the movement. 

“The morphine should kick in soon, and hopefully the pain will start to subside.” 

“Thank you, love,” he says, his voice stronger than Emma’s heard it — and also the first time she's noticed his accent, resembling some from the northern mer-people, though his dark hair and tanned skin makes her question even that. 

She gives him a moment like this, gathering his strength, before leaning closer to him, resting her forearms on her knees. “But now, can you — can you tell me what you remember about getting here?” 

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as if trying to remember — which, Emma realizes, is exactly what he’s doing. After a moment, he starts: “Alright, I was… they were questioning me about the location of —" He stops for a moment, briefly meeting her eyes but focusing behind her instead before starting again. "They were looking for some intel that they thought I had. And then when the rain started, they gave up and left me outside, thinking I was too weak to get away, and they were half-right. But the water, it —  _ Christ, Killian _ — I managed to get away. I had no idea where I was, where I was trying to go, so I just… picked a direction and took off. I really thought I was going to die out there somewhere, that I was finally going to succumb to my wounds, but then I saw this light and I really thought I was going to die, until I realized that it was — it was this hospital, and the door was unlocked even though everyone was asleep. I don’t… I really don’t remember anything after that, but somehow I guess I wound up in your office.” 

"Who was questioning you?" 

She recognizes the fear in his eyes the moment the question slips through her lips. Just as she does not know which side of the war he is on, he must constantly be asking himself the same question about her, especially now that she knows he is a soldier, even without a uniform. If he says the wrong thing, if he reveals that he is on the opposite side of the war as she is, it could prove futile: she could refuse him care, could turn him out of doors to die — or, worse, she could turn him back to the enemy that he narrowly escaped from. 

But she’s not going to do either of those things. “Listen, Killian, this is a hospital. There are no sides to a war in a place like this. But, given your wounds and the obvious hardship you’ve experienced at the hands of your enemy, I fully understand your wariness towards sharing this with me, and I’m certainly not going to force you.”

A silent beat passes, the silence even deeper in the underground safe room, before she pushes herself off the chair. 

“I’m working on gathering supplies for you, but I’m going to be honest, it’s not going to be easy. We’ve been under a regular watch from the enemy recently, what with the changing territories in this area, so I may not be able to get everything I need as fast as I’m hoping to, for your sake.”

“I’m just grateful that you’re willing to help me, love,” he says, and something in his voice lets her know that this is genuine.

She just wishes there was more she could do. 

_ Morphine, tourniquets, stitching thread, blood, _ she says to herself as she leaves him alone to rest up some more.  _ Hope _ , she adds, though she rolls her eyes at her own joke.  _ He needs that more than anything else.  _


	3. THE HOSPITAL, Part 2

“My god, Emma, he looks terrible.” If Emma’s eyes weren’t focused so intensely on Killian’s face, on his wounds, she would have seen the flash of recognition that passed across David’s face, paired with a small smile towards the man in the makeshift bed, when she let him into the safe room. 

But she doesn’t. 

“He still has the fever?” he asks after a moment. Neither of them move their gaze off of the wounded man, David’s eyes wide as Emma begins to change some of his bandages, revealing some of the worst of the wounds. 

Some of the worst, but not yet the worst one, which she has covered carefully with gauze and rags to try to keep debris out of it, since she has not yet discovered a way to close it. 

“I think that’s what’s causing the nightmares, and I feel like if I can bring that down, he’ll stop re-opening his wounds when he thrashes around and may actually start to heal.” 

“Is that what’s stopping him from healing?” Emma knows the question he is trying to ask without asking it. It’s something she’s been trying not to think about, an idea that she’s been holding in since the first time she saw the wound on his chest.

“He’s already much better than he was when he got here a week ago, you should have seen him then. I haven’t seen anything that bad since we—” The words stop dead in her throat, memories of a time when she was still on the battlefield flashing in her mind before she can wish the nightmares away. 

But she doesn’t have to say anything more; David already knows exactly what she is talking about, the thought that's been camping in back of her mind but has not yet come to the forefront. Because if that’s the case…

If that’s the case, there’s no way to heal him. All she would be able to do is watch his condition worsen before her eyes until he — 

“The magic-inflicted wounds aren’t helping much, either. They’re bad, David. Definitely the worst I’ve ever seen.” _Worse than before_ , she thinks, knowing that David is experiencing the same memories she is. “He told me that they’re from an interrogation, people trying to get information from him, but I think he’s too afraid to tell me anything more, and I don’t blame him. He keeps calling out three names: Liam, Milah, and David. It’s a stretch, I know, but I was hoping you may know something, maybe you recognize him.” 

This time, Emma turns to the Prince as the flash of a smile passes across his face, the memories there no longer from bloody battlefield hospitals, but from somewhere with perhaps a little more hope. “I do, actually, I know him personally, and—” 

Before David gets the chance to say more, Killian groans on the makeshift bed, his eyes flying open. For a moment, they are only filled with terror, most likely from another nightmare. But then he begins to focus on the room around him, first on Emma for the moment it takes to remember where he is before moving to David.

A wide smile spreads across his face — one David mirrors.

"Your highness," Killian says, holding his hand out towards David.

Taking it in one of his own, they share a laugh. "Please, Jones, I've told you a million times, it's David."

Emma is beyond confused, to say the least. "How do you two—?" she starts, but Killian is already asking a question of his own, his attention turned to her.

"So, wait, you know the Prince?"

She can't help herself, and she slings her arm over David's shoulder. "David and l have quite a history, we go way back."

"You and I have that in common, it seems, love."

"I hate to break it to you, Jones, but Emma outdates you by quite a lot."

Emma punches his arm. "Are you calling me old?"

He just scoffs. "I would never."

After the room goes silent for a moment, David turns to Killian, all the laughter drained from his face. “Alright, Jones, now that you know we’re all on the same side here, can you tell us what happened?” 

Killian nods, but doesn’t speak right away. A pained look crosses his face even though he has not moved, and Emma knows this can’t be easy for him. She’s never been inside the war zones that she’s only heard about, but she’s seen her fair share of the aftermath of them in hospitals and on transports — and the fact that Killian’s wounds are by far the worst she’s ever witnessed can only mean that what he went through is far beyond what anyone should have to endure. 

  
  


_Killian is sitting at the table, a well-worn map spread out in front of him. They have been laying low for a few months now, taking advantage of the silence that the Prince promised the last time they saw him. There was a plan somewhere in his imagination, they could all tell, but it wasn’t time for them to learn it yet, either for their own protection or because he did not yet feel confident enough in it._

_Either way, the six of them were thankful for the opportunity to have a few weeks to recuperate before they’re needed again._

_It’s far from anywhere Killian ever pictured his life taking him, working with an elite group of soldiers hand-picked by the Prince of the Gale, going on secret missions and working closely with the man who was once his enemy — before Killian lost everything and was saved by the Prince himself, pulled from the water moments before he was ready to give up._

_It’s far from anything he pictured, but there's nowhere else he would rather be._

_All he has ever wanted to be is an honorable man, someone his brother would be proud of, and the day he learned that it meant rebelling against Gold and Nephilysis — the day he lost his brother, the only friend he ever had, and the woman he believed he was going to spend the rest of his life with — was the day everything changed. But these men, the men that he has been working with for almost four years now, are some of the most honorable men he has ever known, and he is proud to count himself among their ranks, only hoping that they feel the same way about him._

_The house is almost silent, four of them out hunting and gathering supplies, leaving just Killian and Phillip, with Phillip puttering around the kitchen. Every once in a while, the sound of a pot or pan, or Phillip muttering to himself, makes its way to Killian in the living room._

_But other than that, silence._

_And then, suddenly, it is no longer silent, the door slamming open followed by the obvious_ bang _of gunfire taking out Phillip as someone comes around to where he is sitting. In the time it takes Killian to turn towards the ruckus, it is over, the tendrils of dark magic coming from the fingers of the man —_ _only referred to as such because Killian’s dealt with him before, a monster in the body of a young boy_ — _wrapping around his limbs, chilling him to the bone. It’s a feeling that he’s tried to forget over the last ten years, once that’s haunted his nightmares along with the screams from that fateful day._

_“Well, well, well, look who I’ve found,” he says, his voice as clear and emotionless as he remembers._

(As he’s tried to forget every night for the last ten years.)

_“If it isn’t our friend the pirate captain.”_

_With those words, Killian immediately knows what he’s up against, knows exactly who is still standing in the kitchen._

_Pan squeezes his hand, the tendrils of black magic wrapping tighter around his body._

_And then everything goes black._

_When he wakes, it’s raining. He’s laying in the mud, feels it seeping into every crevice of his clothing, already caking against his skin. He’s been there for a while. When he goes to move, he realizes that he has been chained to the side of the building, his chains shimmering with what he knows is dark magic. He’s also fairly sure he’s been drugged, with the world moving slowly and groggily around him._

_Slowly, the memory of what happened to him comes back: sitting at the table with the map, Phillip in the kitchen, the intruders. He never even got the chance to see if Phillip was alive — though, given who the intruders were, he highly doubts it. He wonders if they also found the rest of the men who were staying in the cottage_ _out_ _in the woods, if they killed each of them as quickly as they killed Phillip; or perhaps some of them are here with him, caught off guard and abducted just as he was and are chained to other parts of the building, or other buildings._

_He hopes not. He hopes, deep down, that if they were not lucky enough to be left alone, that they were lucky enough to find their ends quickly and not waiting for what can only become an excruciating end at the hands of the enemy._

_Especially this enemy in particular._

_It’s impossible, he knows it, but there’s something inside of him that wants to believe escape is possible. He’s been through his fair share of hardships, has fought and snuck his way out of camps before, but never under the nose of powerful dark magic. The cold rain begins to restore his focus, the grogginess of whatever he was drugged with wearing off, and he closes his eyes to focus on a few slow, deep breaths. Before long, he feels more like himself again, and begins to test his luck: seeing just how tightly the chains are wound around his arms, trying to turn and see how the chains are attached to the building._

_“You’re not getting out of this one that easily, Jones,” a voice says, moving through the rain. “You see, I’ve been told that you have something I need.” He knows the voice is familiar, the memory buried somewhere deep inside him, but between his exhaustion and the haze of Pan's magic, it doesn’t come back to him until the figure appears through the sheets of rain and leans against the building beside him, the tail end of a still-lit cigarette held between his teeth._

_Killian says nothing. Baelfire, he has learned, is the most spiteful being he's ever met — not completely surprising, given his father is Gold the Elder, both the most powerful and most corrupt leader the world has ever seen; and he has ended up powerless, a scientific anomaly in a completely magical line. So, while the questions come to him all at once, barraging his mind — are any of the other men alive? What did you do to Phillip? Why are you working with Pan? — he says none of them._

_"My father has given me a mission, sending some of the most powerful members of his army under my command, and we only need one thing. One thing that I've been told you could be the key to finding. Imagine my surprise when I heard your name again, through the lips of one of my informants, after all these years: the man I thought I killed when I sent him falling through the air and into the icy waters of the Northern Mountains. So, Killian Jones, the pirate who apparently can't be killed, this is the first and only time I'm going to ask you nicely:_ where is Prince David?" 

_Anything else, and Killian probably would have answered immediately, having already escaped the grasp of Baelfire once before, and having seen first hand the damage Pan can do without even lifting a finger. But this is a question that he really does not have the answer to, and he feels his heart sink, the last bit of hope he held out diminished._

_"I haven't seen the Prince for almost a year. I swear to you, that is the truth."_

_Baelfire smiles, and it cuts through Killian's chest like a blade of ice. He says nothing, though, and Pan appears through the sheets of rain, a matching smile spread across his face._

_"My apologies, Captain, but I'm afraid that's not the right answer."_

Ariel bursts through the doors to the safe room, fear obvious on her expressive face, and Killian's recounting of the story stops. "Emma, we need you upstairs. Now." 

But David jumps from his seat first, hand on the pistol he keeps at his side. "What's the problem, Miss Fisher?" 

"There's an enemy patrol here."

“What do you mean _enemy patrol_ , Ariel?” Emma asks very slowly.

“Two of Gold’s men are here, and I’m pretty sure they’re looking for the runaway.” 

Ariel and Emma both turn towards Killian, but David is already moving towards the stairs. 

“Ruby is talking to them right now, but I don’t know how well she can hold them off. They seemed pretty set on searching the whole building, and one of them is a tracker, so I don’t—” 

“David, I think you should stay here,” Emma calls out to him, stopping him on the other side of the door to the safe room, and stopping Ariel’s words before she can spiral into a rambling mess. 

He whips around. “What?”

“This is a maternity hospital. We’re not on one side of the war or the other, and coming up to a patrol from Gold with the Prince of the Gale by my side isn’t really the best way to show that.” 

After a moment, David nods, backtracking the few steps into the safe room, and Emma passes him to the other side of the doorway. “Fine, okay.” 

“And I’m going to close the door behind me.” 

David nods again. 

“I’ll be right back,” she says, herding Ariel out of the room, as well, before closing the door on the two men. 

When Emma pushes through the doors into the main room, Ruby is standing in the open doorway, her body completely shielding the two patrolmen from entering the hospital. 

“If you have nothing to hide, why are you keeping us from entering?” one of them asks, his voice higher than she expected, almost like that of a child, and the words come out slowly and drawn out. 

“This is a _hospital._ A _maternity_ hospital, full of women staying here because _your_ war took their husbands away without as much of a second thought about how it would affect them. All you will find here, sir, is a dozen women who curse your existence in the first place.” 

“We’ve heard word of some of King George’s men coming here, bringing supplies.” 

Emma speaks up, rushing down the aisle before Ruby can argue with them any longer. “We get supplies from anyone who is willing to offer them.” 

The two guards look past Ruby, who is still blocking the doorway. “Who are you?” the other man asks. 

“My name is Emma Swan. This is my hospital.” 

“Alright, _Emma Swan,”_ the first one says, and Ruby moves to the side to turn to face her, allowing Emma to see him for the first time. His face looks just as young as his voice sounds, save a thick, ragged scar running down his cheek. “If you have nothing to hide, where were you?” 

Emma and Ruby share a glance, but it’s not necessary; Emma already knows where Ruby told the men she was, if she told them anything. “It’s a slow day here, so I was in the basement making a list of supplies that we need.” 

“I don’t think you understand just how dire this situation is, Miss Swan. My tracker here followed the scent of a man who went missing from our camp to this hospital.”

Emma knows that there is no sense in trying to deny the fact that he was here if the tracker followed his scent, so she thinks quickly to come up with something. “I did bring a man in here a few days back who I found bleeding out not far from here. I tried to heal him, but his wounds were too severe and he didn’t make it.” 

“What did you do with him?” 

“I took him to the local battlefield hospital for them to bury him. We deal with life here, and not death.” 

“If you’re lying to us, if you’re hiding him from us, that makes you an enemy of Nephilysis, an enemy of Prince Baelfire.”

“Just as we’re on no one’s side, we are also no one’s enemy. Why would I hide someone here?” 

“Deception.” 

“I have no reason to deceive you.” 

“Then you won’t mind if we take a look around.” 

Shaking her head, Emma puts her hand on Ruby’s shoulder, pulling her further away from the door. “All I ask is that you leave the women in the beds alone.” 

The silent tracker leads the way down the aisle, stopping momentarily at the beds that currently have women in them. Every eye in the room follows the two Nephilim soldiers down the aisle, but the tracker raises no alarms. Emma has given him a reason for Killian’s blood to be here, and she can only hope that Ruby covered his scent beyond the office well enough to deceive the enemy tracker. 

Her breath is heavy in her chest, watching the tracker work his way around her office. The cabinets, her desk, the cot that he spent the first night on — everywhere that makes sense for the tracker to find Killian’s scent. And then he steps out of the office again, turning the opposite direction from the main room, towards the stairs to the basement. 

Takes a few steps in that direction. 

Stands up a little straighter. 

“Did the man go down this hallway?” the tracker asks, his voice much deeper than Emma expected it to be. 

Emma has to think quickly on her feet, needs to think faster than the weight that she is quickly feeling in her chest. She nods. “We took him down to one of the cots in the basement because of the care that he needed, plus to keep a better watch on him since we didn’t know if he was hostile or not.” 

The tracker nods. “And we can go down there?” 

Emma tries to keep her fear off her face. “Yeah, sure.” 

She uses the biometric lock to open the door, leading the two soldiers down the steps with Ruby bringing up the rear. But she moves to the side when they reach the bottom to stand beside her friend. Ruby looks just as nervous as she is, her hands kept behind her back only to be that much closer to the pistol concealed there. 

The tracker moves slowly through the large room, serpentining around the rows of shelves, stopping every once in a while in front of the items they use the most, where she assumes he picks up the most scents and movements. 

But Emma knows none of them are Killian's. 

He reaches the far end of the room, moving along the wall that contains the secret door to the safe room, though his focus still seems to be on the shelves. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest as he moves closer to the spot in the wall that contains her biometric lock, every inch of her body on edge. In this moment, for the first time in a while, she wishes she was carrying the pistol David gifted her when she opened the hospital, wishes she had something other than the small dagger sitting at her hip to protect herself should the need arise — though she wishes even harder that the need never arise in the first place. 

She can tell something is amiss almost immediately, the tracker's eyebrows landing low on his forehead. 

"Is there another room down here?" 

All she does is shake her head, knowing that if she were to speak, her voice would probably falter. 

He doesn't believe her. He does an about-face, placing his hands against the wall, right around the spot where the door is. Bangs on the wall with his fist. Moves down a little further before banging on it again. And then turns around again, though this time to his companion and not to Emma. 

"There's something here." 

They both turn to Emma, who is doing all she can to hide the shaking of her hands. 

"There's nothing there," Ruby says. Loudly. Defensively. 

"If this man says there's another room there, then I believe him. Open the door." 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

Before Emma really realizes what is happening, the door bursts open on its own, slamming outward to knock the tracker off his feet. 

There's a deafening gunshot, so close to Emma that she can feel the reverberation of the shot through every inch of her body. 

And another. 

She can't move, suddenly paralyzed from shock or fear or — 

_No —_

And then — 

Silence.

Slowly, she lets out her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She thought she got away from all this, from the gunfire and the fighting and the _death_ , only to have it follow her back to her very hospital. 

Someone is talking behind her, Ruby, she thinks, though it sounds like she is talking through water, and Emma is most definitely drowning.

The body of the tracker lays before her on the ground, a single gunshot in his chest slowly bleeding out onto the concrete floor. 

_(That's never going to come clean_ , she thinks, trying to focus on anything except what just happened to her.

Anything except death.) 

"We have to leave. Now." This time, the voice is David's, a little bit clearer. But the message is as clear as day as Ruby wraps her arm around Emma's waist, leading her through the basement. "Jones, do you think you can walk?" 

"No," Emma tries to argue, turning away from Ruby's grip on her. "No, he can't move, not in the state he's in." 

"He has to, Emma. We can't stay here." 

"He needs constant care, morphine and blood and — and —" 

"Magic," David finishes, trying to prop Killian against his side while carrying a pile of supplies in his hand. "He needs Regina." 

"I can't lose this one," Emma says, trying to wipe the memories of what happened the last time from her mind. She's back in that battalion hospital, back in the dirt and the dust trying to figure out how the hell _she_ is supposed to cure something like _that_ , staring down at — 

"Emma, babe, you gotta stay with me here," Ruby says, her voice far away again, and Emma tries to shake herself back to reality. 

Back to Killian. 

Back to action. 

She snaps back, just like that, her mind moving a mile a minute as she focuses on helping get Killian out of the basement and ready to move. "Alright, let me — let me help you, David. Rubes, can you get these supplies? I'm also — _shit_ , I'm going to need to come back down here for more once we get him loaded into the truck." 

"That's good, because I have to call Mary Margaret before we leave and tell her to meet us at Regina's and not here." 

"Oh, she's going to love that," Emma jokes, and David smiles, helping her hoist Killian's good arm over her shoulder, keeping both the wound from his amputation and the one seeping black magic close to his own body. "Now, Killian, this isn't going to be easy, but once we're back in the truck I'll do what I can to ease your pain so that you're able to sleep for most of the ride back to the Gale, okay?" 

It's a side of her that he hasn't seen in the few days he's spent under her care, the side that she thought she left out in the Wasteland when she decided to turn in her uniform and turn to bringing life into the world instead of being surrounded by death. 

(A life that, in the most mundane moments of her current reality, she sometimes allows herself to admit that she misses: the adrenaline, the ability to give hope to a wounded soldier, and sometimes even the danger of it all. What she doesn't miss, though, is exactly what has haunted her, and what has turned up on her own doorstep now: death, destruction, the type of hatred that is responsible for the kinds of wounds Killian now has to go the rest of his life with.) 

She's right, though. Once he's loaded into the back seat of David's truck, sprawled across the bench seat as much as he can manage, whatever she injects into his arm, paired with the small amount of magic she works as it takes effect, eases his pain enough that everything goes dark, his pain subsided for the time being, and he has drifted into a light sleep before they even make it on the road. 


	4. THE ATHENAEUM // THE CABIN, Part 1

“What is that one?” Emma asks, trying to focus on Regina as she changes the bandages around Killian’s battlefield amputation — each part of this a remnant from a life she truly thought she left behind. She hasn’t practiced very much magic since she turned to prenatal medicine, only needing the few spells that would help women get through the pain of childbirth, and it’s been just as long since she’s used any potions beyond the few Johanna taught her how to make, nonetheless brewed them herself. 

The memory of how to restitch an amputation like the one Killian sustained comes back to her no problem, though, so as she goes through the motions of fixing what got torn during transportation, she tries to pay as much attention to Regina as she can. 

“This one is hawthorne flower mixed with a little mustard seed and some foxglove root."

“Do you think any of these are going to work?” Mary Margaret’s voice is small, strange coming from the one who usually offers hope even in the times that seem the most hopeless, but even she knows just how bad Killian’s wounds are. 

Regina shakes her head, but doesn’t look up from the worn book on the table in front of her. “It would be much easier if we knew what he was poisoned with that helped make the dark magic this strong, but I’ve never seen anything strong enough to keep a wound from healing, especially not to the point that this one is. It’s just oozing whatever they used on him. 

“And he didn’t tell you what the poison was?” Mary Margaret asks, pacing back and forth in the walkway between the kitchen and the living room, unable to keep her worry off her face. 

“I doubt he even knows,” David says. “I’ve seen what Pan and Baelfire can do on their own firsthand, but now that they’re working together, I can only imagine the kind of vile, dark things they’re doing.” 

“If it’s even from this land,” Emma says, letting the thought slip past her lips for the first time. It’s an idea that they’ve all been trying to avoid, knowing that it would make finding a cure even harder. For all the ages the world has been at war, the thought of new lands beyond their borders is a relatively new one, people too focused on the violence within these borders to even think about leaving them. But within the past few years, talk of other lands has been popping up, especially around communities of mer-nephilm and some of the elders who have tried to focus their energies on new ways of travel beyond trains and cars. 

(King Gold had a small fleet of men who knew how to navigate in the air, the rumors said, but after some of the men threatened to take their science and technology to the Gale, Gold had all of the ships destroyed -- and, the rumors said, all the men as well.

“Yeah, well, let’s just hope that’s not the case,” Regina mumbles, turning yet another page in one of the books that are currently covering her large dining room table. “I am running out of ideas, though.” 

David and Emma share a glance, thankfully not caught by the others in the room. They both have an idea, one paired with the nightmarish memory from a battlefield hospital and a time they’ve both tried to forget, a time that Emma specifically locked away in the back of her mind in a vault that she never wanted to re-open. 

They try a few more potions and some minor spells on Killian’s wound, even hoping to find something that could at least keep debris from getting in it, but their search comes up fruitless. Nothing they do has any effect on the wound at all.

An hour later, and though the rest of Killian’s wounds are patched, stitched, and covered, they’ve made zero headway towards any sort of healing for the gash over his heart. 

Regina has gone up to her office, searching for a few rare ingredients for her last-ditch effort for a healing potion and packing a bag for their travels; David and Mary Margaret sit on her back porch, each with a cup of coffee in the hand that is not grasping onto the other. But Emma sits on one of the kitchen chairs by where they laid Killian, her focus still on the glimmering wound that covers his heart. She has worked a small ball of her own magical energy between her hands, getting it to react with the snaps and crackles still coming from the dark magic inside the gash. She can feel the power from within it humming, louder as she and her magic move closer toward it, but the most she can get to happen is a fine protective layer over his skin, no thicker than cheesecloth, but still failing to touch the affected area. 

She is so focused on this that she fails to notice as Killian starts to stir, his head moving slowly from one side to the other as he regains consciousness and tries to figure out where he is and how he got there. 

“Swan,” he chokes out after a few moments, no louder than a whisper with how dry his throat has become, but it still scares her enough to get her to jump from her seat. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, her hand over her heart, but a small smile starts to spread across her face. “Sorry, you just scared me.” 

Killian offers a small smile of his own. “My apologies, love.” He tries to cough to clear his throat, but only finds pain. “Could I get some water?’ he whispers. “And what the hell did you do to me, everything hurts again.” 

Jumping out of her seat for real this time, Emma nods. “Yes, yes, of course. And I’ll get you another round of painkillers.” 

He finds his eyes locked on her as she walks away, really taking in her figure for the first time since she found him in her office. She’s slender, but muscular, he notices — though it’s not the first time for that, since she did have to move him a few times. But this is the first he notices how truly beautiful she is, her wavy blonde hair piled high on top of her head so as to stay out of her way as she worked on him. When she turns at the kitchen counter, filling the glass she has found with water from the faucet, she finds him watching her, and the corner of her lip turns up into a gentle smile. 

He realizes here, answering her smile with a small one of his own, just how indebted to her he is. He does not remember much about the night he crawled into her hospital, but he knows just how damn lucky he was to have ended up there and not in a place where he would have been denied care — or, worse, turned back to Baelfire and Pan. 

Just how lucky he was to find a caretaker with such strong ties to the Prince, the only other leader he has found worthy of his dedication since he lost his brother, and the man who, at many times, even reminds him of Liam in the best of ways. 

Under any other circumstance, he most likely would have been dead already and not in the care of someone who so adamantly wants to find a way to rid him of the darkness found within the deep wound inflicted in his side. Someone he feels so drawn to, though he cannot figure out why, and _certainly_ will not act on that feeling.

“Here you go,” she says, handing him a glass of water before doing her best to help him sit up without causing him pain or reopening any of the wounds she just finished restitching. 

“Thank you.” 

He takes a small sip of water, the coolness of it immediately helping his dry throat. 

Slowly, Emma sits down beside him, and he realizes that she has not taken her eyes off of him since she handed him the glass. 

“Can I ask you something?’ she asks after a moment, her voice quiet, as if she is trying to keep their conversation a secret from those around them, even though they are alone in the large open space. 

He just nods, taking another sip of the water. 

“Do you know what Pan used to drug you?” 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he takes a deep, ragged breath. This is the conversation he has been dreading, because he knows that revealing it will only remove the small amount of hope left in Emma, her thinking that they will be able to find a cure for him. He does not know if anyone else in their party has any experience with the poison, but he knows more about it than he cares to, though he does not yet know how to share that with her. 

“Yes,” he says finally. “Though I’m afraid that, in the times I’ve dealt with it in the past, there has been no way to cure the victim once it’s been used, and I certainly haven’t seen it used alongside dark magic the way it has been here.” 

His words are ice to the deepest parts of her, and she doesn’t need him to say any more to know that her hunch has become the reality. 

“Dreamshade.” 

They say it at the same time, their eyes locking together moments later, and neither of them dares to move. 

The sliding door to the back porch slides shut even though neither of them heard it open. 

“Dreamshade?” David asks, and they both snap their attention to him, though only Emma nods. 

“That’s good, though, right?” Mary Margaret asks, much too much hope in her voice for the circumstance, “Now that we know that, we just have to find the antidote?” 

David and Emma share a look again, and this time it is noticed by the others in the room; obviously they know something they’re not sharing. 

Nobody answers — nobody _moves_ — for what feels like far too long. Mary Margaret takes turns staring at both of them, but does not press any further. The silence holds until Regina comes down the stairs, and she notices the awkward, tense silence right away. 

“What the hell is going on down here?” 

This is the question that breaks them, and both David and Emma seem to return their attention back to the room from wherever their minds took them to, but it’s not until David speaks that Killian does the same, his mind off on a memory of its own. 

“Do you want to tell them, or should I?” David asks, and when Emma doesn’t answer, too afraid of the ghosts the story will reveal about her past, David takes the lead.

  
  


_“Psst, Em,” David whispers, nudging her with his elbow. She didn’t mean to fall asleep, really, but with everything going on, with all the changes happening to everything around her, she's glad she was able to find a little bit of rest_ _. It takes her a moment to adjust to her surroundings — or, what little of them she can see, since everything around her is still dark._

_“It’s the middle of the night,” she mumbles, still trying to figure out what the single blinding light in front of the truck might be._

_“Yeah, but we’re here.”_

_They’re_ here. 

_“You couldn’t have, I don’t know, gotten us here during the day?” she jokes, but neither of them smile. None of this is funny._

_“We can’t cross the Wasteland during the day, Swan,” Robin says from the backseat, not sensing the joke, and David lets out a small laugh. But in a moment, as the hospital becomes clearer in front of them, all of the laughter in the truck is sucked away._

_“Have any of you ever been to a battlefield hospital?” Emma asks, a much more serious tone in her voice than was there a moment before._

_A much more_ terrified _tone._

_“I promised my mother I’d stay away from them,” David says._

_“Yet here we are,” Robin deadpans. “Why are we here again?”_

_“I need to be somewhere other than sitting behind the planning table next to my father, who will never listen to nothing I say to him anyway.”_

_“And this is where you decided you’ll do the most good?”_

_“I was forbidden from battlefields, especially with all this new technology Gold’s trackers have. I wasn’t forbidden from raising the morale of the men fighting for me by aiding in their healing.”_

_“What about the rest of us?”_

_Emma holds up her hands, answering for herself before David can pull her into the conversation. “I’m a medic, so I can help people wherever we end up.”_

_“A healer I understand, Dave, but you brought a Terren to a place where neither a connection to the earth or the animals will be helpful.”_

_David cranes his head so he can see Robin in the rear-view mirror. “I brought you because you’re the only man who I trust with my life,” he says, as much sincerity in his voice as he can muster, and the truck stays silent as David parks in the small lot outside the hospital._

_They’re greeted by a man in all black with wild blond hair sticking up in every direction and a woman with long, dark hair in jeans and a maroon fatigue top, with a rifle slung across her back and a pistol and a dagger in matching leather sheaths on either hip. T_ _he man speaks first, holding his hand out to David after opening the gate for them before greeting the rest of them. “Welcome, Your Highness. It’s a pleasure to have you all here. I’m Victor Whale, I’m sort of in charge around here.”_

_“And I’m Mulan,” the woman says, her face and voice lacking all signs of emotion. “I’m in charge of everything Victor isn’t.”_

_She shakes none of their hands, though acknowledges David with a slight nod. He’s been around warriors like her before, can tell by her countenance alone that she is among those who have been forced into a war that they wanted nothing to do with simply because they had no other choice. He is sympathetic towards them, but he would never say it out loud, as it would be seen as dishonorable though he would never mean it as such._

_Victor offers them a small tour of the camp, only the things they pass on the way to their cabins, with Mulan disappearing in the opposite direction._

_“I apologize for her, Your Highness, she—” Victor tries, but David silences him both with a hand held up and with his own words._

_“Please don’t apologize for her. I’ve been around enough of this war to sense the disdain for me, my father, and everything we stand for without anyone needing to say anything. It’s part of the reason I’m so dead-set on spending time outside of the safety of the palace, part of the reason I’m here in the first place.”_ _Victor nods._ _“And also, I think it would be better if you just called me David, and I would only like for you to introduce me as such. I don’t want the soldiers out here to think of me as their Prince, but just as another man who is on their side of this war.”_

_At this, Victor smiles, pulling open the door to a well-kept cabin in a more secluded part of the camp. “You’re a good man, sir. I hope you know that much of this army chooses to fight for you and not for your father. That many of us wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”_

_David follows Emma and Robin through the door, finding themselves in a small common area with a few doors around it that lead to a single bathroom and four individual “bedrooms,” which only contain a small cot and a set of drawers, the space that the three of them will call home for the next few months._

_“I really appreciate it, Victor.”_

_“Get some rest and I’ll find you again in the morning to show you around the rest of the camp. It’s been a quiet few days so hopefully you’ll be able to get a bit settled before any of you are really needed.”_

_They go through a relatively quiet two months, nothing unexpected coming up through the woodwork from the frontlines, though with far more bullets than Emma ever wanted to see, a very different life than she ever imagined since David introduced her to the palace medic._

_Until Jefferson arrives. He was part of a prisoner swap between this hospital and another, not the first of those Emma had been there to witness, but he was in a far worse state than any of the other wounds that Emma has helped with since her arrival._

_A far worse state than she’s ever seen before._

_Will Scarlett, the man that came with him, relayed the information he’d discovered during his time as a prisoner in the Nephilim camp — though there was not much to relay beyond his knowledge of what happened to Jefferson._

_“From what I gathered, there were a few higher-up Nephilim soldiers who recently took a liking to torture, and were, uh, practicing some newer forms.”_

_“This is more than just torture,” David mutters, watching as Whale’s surgical needle fails to take hold of the skin around the gash on the man’s arm._

_“Well, yeah,” Will says, sitting up on his elbows in his cot. “One of those forms was this new kind of poison, supposedly from some_ far-off land _that no one has ever seen before.”_

_“What land?” David asks._

_Will narrows his eyes at him, his attention flitting for a moment to Robin, standing right behind the Prince. “I don’t bloody know, it’s a place that no one has ever been,” he practically spits. “Why do you look so familiar?”_

_David shrugs off the question, trying to go back to the poison. “Did you hear them say anything about the poison they used?”_

_This time, Will just shakes his head. After a moment, he adds, "I think they called it Dreamshade, if that means anything to you."_

_Everyone around the bed exchanges glances, hoping that it means something to one of them._

_It doesn't._

_Over the next few days, his condition only worsens, the area around what they decide must have been the injection site growing black, with the darkness spreading further up his arm in his veins._

_It takes two days before he is able to move, slowly recovering from his complete paralysis, but no one gets their hopes up._

_It’s a week before he begins to speak, his eyes always set off in the distance and unresponsive to anything or anyone that tries to pull him out of the obvious trance he finds himself in, saying things like, "The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!" or "Half-past one, time for dinner!" in a very excited tone, his words rushed, though often half-whispered._

_Or even, sometimes, words none of them even recognized, sung as if part of a poem: "_ Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimbel in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe. _"_

_On day 12, he makes eye contact with Emma as she is changing some of his bandages, a crazed expression that covers every inch of his face — and somehow, Emma has the feeling that if he had the strength for it, he would have bolted to sit up straight._

_“Neverland,” he says, his focus on her so intent that it terrifies her for a moment, though she does think this word is just part of another string of nonsense._

_But then he reaches out to grab her arm, suddenly overcome with a strength none of them would have guessed he could muster in his current state, and starts to speak again, the words coming out almost too quickly for her to understand. “They said it was from a place called-called Neverland, and the little boy was in charge. The-the-the little boy and the prince.”_

_“David!” Emma calls, not breaking her eye contact with Jefferson, afraid that it would also break the streak of consciousness he seems to have at the moment. “Whale!”_

_“The prince, he wanted something that c-couldn’t be cured, and this-this is what the little boy suggested, say-say-saying that no one could ever find the cure since it's only on an island that no one could-could ever find on their own.”_

_“Neverland,” Emma says, thankful for David’s hand heavy on her shoulder, keeping her grounded,_ needing _him to know something about the babble coming from this immensely wounded soldier._

_“An island no one can find,” David repeats, his voice soft. Jefferson shifts his gaze to David, as if realizing for the first time that he is there._

_“The boy t-talked about-about jungles and rivers a-and-and enchanted pools, the only place where-where anyone could f-f-find the cure.”_

_He looks away from all of them, his eyes once again set off in the distance, but his grip on Emma’s arm even tighter than before._

_“Neverland,” he repeats one more time, taking a slow breath deep enough that Emma watches the rise and fall of his shoulders._

_And then, as quickly as it started, his hand grows limp on her wrist, and he mumbles, "Why is a raven like a writing desk?", his attention no longer on anything around him as he slips back into madness._

  
  


“That was the only thing he ever said that made sense,” David says, wringing his hands around his cup of coffee as he shakes his head. 

“What happened to him?” Killian asks, his eyes pressed shut as if he is afraid to make eye contact with anyone in the room. 

_(He is, fearing that he knows the answer to his own question,)_

“He lived for another four days, mumbling nonsense, and then one morning, he just didn’t wake up. Sixteen days.”

Eyes still shut, Killian nods. This was the answer he was expecting, though far from the one he was hoping for deep down. 

“Sixteen days,” he whispers, not needing to open his eyes to know that everyone in the room is focused on him. 

“Sixteen days after he came to the hospital. According to Will, he was at the Nephilim camp with him for at least another two weeks before that.” 

Killian lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. He does finally open his eyes, but the only person in the room he is able to look at is Emma, whose green eyes are full of sympathy, but not sadness. 

He’s thankful for that. 

“So that’s, what, a month? It’s already been a week since I escaped from Pan, a few days longer than that since they first used the Dreamshade on me.”

No one speaks. 

Until: “So, that means we’re going to Neverland now, right?” The question everyone was thinking comes from Mary Margaret, to no one’s surprise. 

Everyone turns to Emma, and the pressure of it all sucks the air right out of her lungs, so she shrugs to give herself a moment to recompose. “I don’t think we have a choice. I’d like to think Killian at least has a fighting chance, from how his wounds have been reacting to my magic. It’s certainly something I’ve never witnessed before, and much different than anything we experienced with Jeff.” 

No one speaks, and Emma takes a moment to look around the room, her eyes landing on Regina last. 

She, unlike everyone else in the room, looks shocked. "What do you mean, _how his wounds have been reacting to your magic?_ " she asks after another moment, her voice both intrigued and slightly scared. 

Emma, in turn, can’t keep her confusion off her face. "You mean your magic didn't react weirdly to his wound?" 

Regina shakes her head, moving slowly towards where Emma still sits next to Killian’s makeshift cot. "Show me." 

So Emma does, conjuring a small light between her hands before focusing on the wound in Killian’s side, where she is able to create the same crackling effect that happened before.

Regina says nothing, her wide eyes unmoving, set on Emma’s hands. Mary Margaret tries to shake her out of her trance, and it takes a minute to work before she turns away from them and rushes back upstairs, still without saying a word, and returning moments later with a small vial of a shining grey liquid, which she hands to Killian. 

"Drink this." 

He raises both eyebrows at her, then looks down at the bottle in his hand. "Pardon?" 

"Just do it." 

When he turns to David, he just shrugs, so he empties the vial into his mouth in a single swallow. Everyone is watching him intently, waiting for something to happen. 

But it doesn't. 

"Do that thing with your magic again," Regina whispers, as if afraid to speak too loudly and break some sort of spell. 

Emma listens, drawing her power up into her hand before focusing on Killian's wound — and this time, along with the crackling and sparking, she is able to pull a viscous black liquid from the wound, though it startles her and she loses focus, so it all disappears. 

Everyone turns their attention to Regina, who just stares wide-eyed at Killian's wound, terror written across her face. "We have to go to the Athenaeum" 

"Are you crazy? I can't go to Nephilysis," David argues, and Killian agrees. 

"There are already enough people looking for us as is." 

"There has to be another way," Mary Margaret tries. 

Regina shakes her head. "No, it's the only place we'll find answers.” She stops, looking down at her wristwatch. “And we need to go _now_." 

David huffs. "What do you expect us to do? Just sit around and twiddle our thumbs until you get back?" 

Regina rolls her eyes, but Killian clears his throat. "We could go to the cabin, see if anyone else is there."

This time, David scoffs, his attention on his friend. “Wait, you think we should split up?" 

"That really seems like the only logical plan," Killian replies, obviously not thrilled with the idea, but knowing that it really is their best bet.

"You need to come with me," Regina says, pointing to Emma, who has stayed quiet through all of this. 

After sharing a glance with David, Mary Margaret reaches out to take Emma’s hand in hers. "I'm not letting you go with her alone.”

Regina rolls her eyes again, ignoring the spite in Mary Margaret’s voice. "We have to leave tonight," she says again. 

Emma nods, turning to David. After a moment, he nods, too, turning to Killian. "We shouldn't stay put for too long, either." 

It's a plan — well, more of one than they've had this far. 

"We'll take a week and meet back together before we go to Neverland."

“How do you even get to Neverland?” Mary Margaret asks, looking around the room in hopes of someone having the answer. 

“You have to fly,” Killian says, his voice soft, obviously far away. 

"And how the hell do we do that?" Emma asks. 

Killian smiles. 


	5. THE ATHENAUEM // THE CABIN, Part Two

_ “I’m so proud of you, brother,” Killian says, clapping his hand on Liam’s shoulder as he fixes his collar in the mirror of their shared barracks.  _

_ Liam meets his eyes in the mirror, flashing a large smile before reaching around to wrap his arm around Killian’s shoulders.  _

_ “Thank you, Killy.”  _

_ If anyone else ever even tried to call him ‘Killy,’ he would probably throttle them, but no one has ever tried. Only Liam has ever come up with a nickname for him, and though he knows the tips of his ears turn red on the rare occasion Liam calls him ‘Killy’ in public, he would always take ‘little brother’ over that any day. _

_ It wasn’t a lie, though: Killian  _ is  _ proud of his brother. Very proud. Today is his promotion — both of their promotions, actually, though Liam’s is a much bigger deal than his own.  _

_ The youngest admiral the Nephilysis military has ever seen. The only dryad to even become a high-ranking officer in the navy. Gold’s son, Baelfire, even called him the ‘most skilled fae’ he has ever seen. All because he has honed his abilities in a way no one ever expected, combining his air manipulation abilities with his love for the ocean and working with an Elder and a Fae to create a whole new system for travelling: the airship.  _

_ So today is more than a promotion for the elder Jones brother; it is also the day Liam gets a ship of his own, the perfect and pristine  _ Jewel of the Realm _ , whose flying technologies include the best of everything Killian and Liam, with the help of Merlin and the rest of Gold's elders, have created over the last eight years working for Gold.  _

_ The ceremony, though filled with age-old traditions, does not take nearly as long as Killian anticipated, even with both of them receiving promotions: Liam to Admiral of the  _ Jewel of the Realm _ and a small fleet of ships equipped for air travel and Killian as Captain, serving directly under his brother for the time being.  _

_ The ceremony does not take long, but the meeting that he and Liam have directly afterwards, where they are getting their first assignments in their new positions, is proving to be the opposite.  _

_ Killian had assumed that the only business of the meeting would be giving them their assignments, and he had been dead wrong. Instead of only them, he and Liam found themselves meeting with Gold’s entire war council, which included the Elders for each Nephilim faction, other admirals and generals from all across the Wasteland — not to mention the Prince and his band of Elders and guards, much younger and less traditional than Gold’s men. It’s a stark contrast in the room, really, between the Elders who follow Gold and those who follow his son, between those in traditional Nephilysis uniforms and those in jeans and sweatshirts. Killian would never dare to show up to a meeting with Gold the Elder, the  _ King  _ of Nephilysis, the man that he serves under, wearing jeans. Hell, he would be embarrassed to even be  _ seen  _ by the King of Nephilysis wearing jeans — but he supposes that Baelfire and his collection of followers lead a very different, and much more privileged, life than he does.  _

Finally,  _ after what feels like hours — though, according to Killian’s wristwatch proves to only be an hour and a half — Gold turns his attention to the Jones brothers for the first time.  _

_ “Now, as for the newest members of this council,” he says, his voice odd in a way Killian struggles to describe, though  _ slimy  _ comes to mind. He smiles, though there is not a happy thing about it, more sinister than anything else. “Many of you should already know about Admiral Jones’ work with his airships, so now it’s time to give him and his small fleet of Captains their first destination. I’m very pleased that we are now able to go to far-off places thanks to the hard word of Admiral Jones, and so it is an honor to finally announce that he will be leading an expedition to somewhere my advisors and I have had our sights set on for a while now.”  _

_ He says nothing beyond this, waiting for every eye in the room to be on him. The last to look up, Killian notices, is Prince Baelfire, who rolls his eyes when he realizes what his father is doing, but looks up at him nonetheless. Finally, Gold turns back to Killian and Liam, that same sinister smile on his face again.  _

_ “Neverland!’ he says with a laugh even more sinister that chills Killian to the bone.  _

_ There is just something about him that Killian strongly dislikes but he can’t figure out what. He realizes, perhaps a moment too late, that he may have let his disgust with him show on his face, and tries to wipe off all expression --and then realizes exactly what Gold just said to them.  _

_ When he turns to Liam, his brother looks just as confused as he feels. “How is it I’ve studied maps of the world practically my whole life and yet I’ve never heard of this place, this Neverland?”  _

_ Gold’s slimy smile grows, somehow. It takes all of Killian’s energy not to cringe, though he’s useless against the confusion he feels when the Prince answers Liam’s question instead of the King. “Well, because Neverland isn’t on any map, it’s not somewhere you can navigate to.”  _

_ It’s time for Killian to voice his concern, turning to the Prince. “Then how are we supposed to get there?”  _

_ But Gold himself answers instead. “There’s only one man who has ever made it to the island and returned, so he is going to join you.” He gestures towards the door just as a young man — much younger than even the youngest recruits, Killian notices — pushes through the door, as if on cue. Out of anyone in the room, his eyes meet Killian’s, a smile just as sinister, if not more, than the King’s, spread across his face. “Admiral, Captain, this is Peter Pan.”  _

_ Liam slams the door to their barracks behind him, the anger that he’s been trying to keep off his face suddenly obvious.  _

_ “He can’t be serious, can he?” he practically yells, furiously pacing between the close walls of their cabin. “That Pan, he’s — he’s just a boy. He speaks so highly of himself, as if he has more knowledge than anyone else in the room.”  _

_ “I hate to say it, brother, but I do believe there is more to that boy than meets the eye,” Killian responds, sitting down on one of the chairs in their common area.  _

_ Liam whips around. “What does that mean?”  _

_ “I don’t — he could be…” He shakes his head, then rests it in his hands. “One of the books I read recently spoke of these… these beings who don’t age, who are from all of these weird lands, and I thought it was fantasy, just a myth, but then I saw this—this boy, and I got this… I don’t know, this  _ feeling _ that he was one of them.”  _

_ “Killy, that’s insane.” _

_ “I thought it was insane, too, but now I’m not too sure.”  _

_ Liam pushes his fingers through his hair, huffing, but sits down next to him anyway. “What else did your book say about them?” he asks finally, the words coming out slowly.  _

_ “Dark magic, Liam. They’re creatures of pure black magic.”  _

_ Liam shakes his head. “King Gold does a lot of things, brother, but I cannot believe that he would go to that extreme.”  _

_ “That’s not all. Not only are they dark magic, but the places they come from are the same, are home to the darkest magics of the world, items and poisons and weapons. This  _ Neverland _ , I’ve never heard of it, but I can only imagine that it’s one of these places.”  _

_ He is still shaking his head. “No. No, I refuse to believe it. King Gold is— he’s corrupt, yes, but dark magic? That’s insane, Killian.”  _

_ “I’m just telling you what I read.”  _

_ Liam stands up again, continuing with his pacing where he left off. “Dark magic,” he whispers, scrubbing his face with his hand, then he starts to unbutton the jacket of his dress uniform. “You don’t think King Gold would send us on a mission to collect dark magic, do you?”  _

_ Killian does, a fear that he feels seeping into the deepest parts of him — but he just shakes his head. He may  _ think _ Gold is evil enough to send them to a land of dark magic, but to say it out loud, even to his brother, would be treason. Bad form.  _

The gates to the Athenaeum loom above them, shining in the golden sunlight of the dawn. It took them a whole day’s drive to get there, opting to go around the bulk of the city instead of through it, hoping to keep as much attention off of them as they can, even if it meant adding another four hours in the car. 

Regina has never much cared for the second entrance to the Athenaeum, never afraid to travel through the city because of her immunity, both an atheneid and an Elder on the Gale Council. But she understands how careful Emma and Mary Margaret want to be, being so close to the Prince himself. 

With a huff, Regina checks her watch. It’s been almost a minute since she knocked on the door, and there has still been no sign of movement on the other side of the gate. Finally, one of the gates swings open, revealing a dark-skinned Naphilm soldier in a dress uniform — something Regina hasn’t seen for years, since she was a young woman studying to become an elder and an atheneid. Something she never thought she was going to see again once she left Nephilysis behind. 

"State your business." His voice is sinister, angry, but he is unable to deny them access once Regina shows him her credentials as an atheneid, which allows her access to the Athenaeum and no questions asked about her allegiance. He doesn’t let them any further than inside the gates, though, barring them from walking any closer to the building. 

Even still, Regina rolls her eyes when he stands in the middle of the path, keeping them from going any further. "We're here for a meeting with Magistra French, she's expecting us." 

He doesn’t budge. "You're going to have to wait here for her to come get you." 

Both Emma and Mary Margaret take a terrified look around, noticing all of the Nephilim in uniform around the building, both as guards and simply sitting in the gardens in the gated area around the Athenaeum, more than either of them have seen in a single place. 

Regina stands her ground, conjuring a fire ball in her right hand without breaking eye contact with the guard. "Both you and I know that's not the protocol." Her voice is hard, confident, one she has had more than enough practice with as a member of King George’s council. 

"Gold has changed the protocol," the guard growls. He tries to make himself taller, tries to tower over Regina, but he is still a few inches shorter than her in her heels. 

Her fireball grows bigger., her eyes wider "He doesn't have the power to do that, not here." 

"Tell him that yourself and see how willing to listen to you he is." 

A flash of fear crosses her face, and the guard laughs, only to be stopped by the doors behind him opening to reveal the Magistra herself. She, unlike the guards, is dressed much more casually, in a pair of black jeans and a yellow button-down top. After narrowing her eyes towards the guard, who has now stepped to the side, she smiles at the three ladies, her eyes landing last on Emma, holding there for a moment before returning to Regina. 

"Please, Regina, come in." 

She has a thick accent, different than Emma has heard, though she assumes it’s from the southern parts of Nephilysis, perhaps even the islands off the coast, knowing the accents get stronger the further from the Wasteland. 

“Thank you for travelling all the way out here, ladies,” she says, leading them through the entryway to the building and through the stacks. “And on such short notice.” 

“Thank you for seeing us,” Mary Margaret says, voicing the words that Emma is somehow unable to vocalize. 

Instead, she is focused on the sights around her, the wooden stacks of books that stretch to the high ceilings. Emma has been to some of the smaller universities around the Gale, traveling with Johanna while honing her medical and magical abilities, or with David after she formally became personal aide to the prince, but none of them are anything like this, even the biggest ones in the Gale. 

Emma has always wondered — silently, never voicing her questions — why  _ this  _ is the place that every Elder must come to study the arts under the Magistra, thanks to an order by one of the previous King Gold’s (Emma can’t remember which one, never needing to memorize it for academia.) 

But she understands it now, following the Magistra and Regina through the building with Mary Margaret taking the rear. There are rows and rows of books in every direction, seemingly endless in the monstrous building. Every once in a while, the repetitive rows are dotted with a collection of tables; broken by a staircase, leading to another floor; or a small study room surrounded by glass walls, some of them covered in writing from the people inside. 

Belle leads them up one of these sets of steps and down a small hallway, placing her hand against a biolock not unlike the ones Emma uses in the hospital to open one of the identical doors. Emma notices the large, intricate “M” carved into the dark wooden door as she walks through it, and her suspicions are confirmed when she finds herself in a large office, the walls lined with bookshelves only broken by a window that overlooks a small courtyard. The books, she notices, are some of the oldest she has ever seen, and meticulously organized in some sort of fashion that puts the dusty, cracked ones with pages visibly falling out near the edges of the bookshelf, allowing the bulk of the entire middle to be lined with matching sets and collections of different-colored leather-bound volumes. Many of them do not have words printed on their spines, some of them only letters, if anything at all. 

Belle sits down behind the desk, folding her perfectly-manicured fingers in front of her. She allows herself to look at each of them for a few seconds, once again ending with Emma, but this time she does not look away. 

"Your phone call sounded urgent, please tell me what I can do to help." 

Even though the call did not come from Emma, the question is obviously directed at her, but when Emma fails to voice any response, Regina speaks up. "Emma, this is your story, I think it's only fair." 

She takes a small breath, gulps, then clears her throat. For some reason, just the thought of relaying the story to someone as important as an Atheneid — as the  _ Magistra _ herself — brings a new sense of realness to their situation. 

And with that comes a new sense of fear. 

From the first time she felt the way the wound on Killian's chest reacted to her magic, she found herself afraid to share it with anyone, sure that it was some sort of secret that she would never be able to discover the meaning behind. (Sure that Killian wouldn't be alive long enough to allow it, really.) And when she learned that it was  _ her _ magic that did it, and not just light magic responding to the darkness and the poison in the wound, she was even more sure that this was not something to take lightly. 

So needing to recall the whole story to the most important fae in the world at the hunch of Regina made her a little uneasy. 

But she does it anyway, every eye in the room on her as she tells a shortened version: finding Killian in her office, her ability to heal his wounds save the ones seeping with dark magic, and describing as best she can what happens when she tries to use her magic on them, since this is the detail that made Regina so sure they had to come here. 

At this, Belle's eyes go wide, and she jumps out of her seat and starts to search the wall behind her for something. 

Emma is too stunned by her response to say even another word, though she did come to the end of her tale, save the very little information Regina gave them in the cabin before they left. Sensing either her shock or the fact that her recollection has come to its end, Regina takes over. "I remembered what you showed me once in one of the obscure healing books that you insisted I memorized, something I haven't thought about in years, and when I gave him a vial of SOMETHING she was able to extract the Dreamshade from his wound for just a moment." 

Belle turns around from the shelf, bright eyes wide with both excitement and awe. "So you're thinking she's—" 

Regina doesn't let her finish. "Yes, I'm almost sure of it, but I knew I had to bring her here to know for sure." 

“Has she tried it with other poisons?” 

Both Regina and Belle turn to her, waiting for an answer. “I’ve never dealt with other poisons. Only Dreamshade once before, and I never tried to do anything to it with my magic.”

Belle nods. “And what about this man? The one you healed? Are you also thinking that he's—" 

"The one from the—"

"Yes."

"I'm almost sure of it." 

“What about him?” Emma asks, having enough of their half-conversation. 

“Did you try any other magic on him? Any other strange reactions?” 

“What do you mean,  _ strange reactions _ ?” 

Belle's response comes in a rush, more words than Emma is able to focus on as she thinks back to try to answer the questions: “How about when you tried to heal him, did anything else out of the ordinary happen? Any… energies that seemed off? Weird feelings from either of you, but especially you? Did anything work better than you expected, or seem to happen instantly when you know it’s taken more time in the past?” 

The breath leaves Emma's lungs. She really wishes things would stop taking her breath away. Belle must sense something, must know that this has riled Emma's memory, and she watches her in anticipation across the desk. 

"Well, yes," she says finally, once again able to regulate her breath. "Many of his wounds were less severe, just cuts and gashes on his chest, and many of them not only healed in response to my magic, but disappeared entirely. Not even a scar." 

Belle's eyes go wide, even wider than they already were, and she turns back down to the book spread across the desk in front of her.

Silence overtakes the room, and Emma tries to decipher some of the writing that Belle is looking so intently at, only to find it written in a language that does not look familiar to her at all. 

"Can somebody please tell me what's going on?" she asks, trying to keep her voice calm, but her heart is pounding wildly in her chest — another side effect from the events of the last two weeks that she wishes would just disappear. 

Belle shuts the volume in front of her, folding her hands on top of it. With her head hung, she takes a breath, obvious in the rise and fall of her shoulders, before looking back at Emma. 

"There's a prophecy," she says. 

Emma scoffs, stopping her mid-sentence. "You're kidding, right?" 

Belle shakes her head, but decides to tackle the subject from a different angle. "What do you know about your lineage?" 

Emma scoffs again, this time rolling her eyes. "No, really, you've got to be kidding." 

"I can assure you, this is no joke to me." 

There's something in her voice, a hardness and a seriousness (and perhaps a dash of magic) that makes Emma suddenly very sure that the Magistra is telling the truth. "I'm — I'm an orphan. I know nothing of my parents, or of any part of my lineage. I was left on the steps of a university outside of the Gale when I was a few days old, raised by the Elders there for a while until I took to the streets." 

Even after making Emma spill that, Belle says nothing for a moment, though her eyes search Emma's face for… something. Emma isn't sure what, and is even less sure whether she finds it or not. 

"And they were the ones who helped you hone your abilities?" 

Emma shakes her head again. "I'd left the university by the time my abilities started showing themselves, and it wasn't until David — until the Prince helped me find an apprenticeship with the palace healer that I started to focus on medicine." 

"And you've never attempted any art other than the one that showed itself then? Terren, or dryad?" 

The question catches Emma off guard. From everything she's heard about the Elders, and about the Magistra in particular, they are supposed to be able to sense these things about a person without having to ask. 

"Well, actually, I've — I've never really been sure. Plants, sure, and I've never much tried with the wind or whatever, but I once saved David by using a large boulder to protect us, and I've calmed some waters, but I've mostly just harnessed my own energy for healing purposes." 

"Plants, earth, water," Belle mumbles, turning her chair around to face the bookshelf once again, this time finding one of the more used volumes, with a cracked spine and unattached pages in every direction. She places it on top of the other on her desk, but does not open it. "Plants, earth, water… energy." With the last word, she meets Emma's eyes once more, her whole face seeming to light up. "Regina, I'm assuming you've come to the same conclusion I have?" she asks, not even looking over at Regina. 

But Emma does, and the wide smile spread across her face just makes Emma more curious. 

In the silence, Mary Margaret gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Of course," she breathes. 

“What?” Emma says, at the end of her patience. “What conclusion have all of you come to that I somehow still can’t see?” 

“See,” Mary Margaret says, completely ignoring Emma’s question. “Emma didn’t have… formal education, really, so she was never fully introduced to all of the factions, and probably never really heard about all of it, so it makes sense that she never—” 

“I am right here,” Emma practically yells, stopping Mary Margaret’s words in their tracks. “Now, what the  _ hell _ are you talking about?” 

“A Vis,” Belle says. “Emma, I think you have the Gift. I think you’re a Vis.” 

A  _ Vis _ . She’s — she’s heard of them, sure, maybe read about them once or twice, but… 

_ A Vis.  _ The rarest of all magic-wielders, with the ability to create their own energy instead of just using those around them. 

“As rare as Vis are, it’s pretty common for some of those with the Gift to simply go through their lives thinking they are just a simple fae.” 

Emma has so many questions.  _ How _ , mostly. How has she gone her whole life without knowing this? 30 years, almost half of that time as a fae. 

As a  _ Vis.  _

She doesn't have enough time to process this. When Regina said they had to come to the Athenaeum, the last thing she expected was something like this. She assumed it was to find a way to save Killian. 

_ Killian. _

"What does this have to do with Killian?" she asks, the first words spoken for almost a minute. 

Both Belle and Regina turn to her, wide-eyed, not understanding the question.

Mary Margaret does. "Yeah, you said he had something to do with this, right?" 

"Oh," Belle says, closing the book in front of her again. "No, that's not related to the Vis thing. If you're… well, if you're the Savior that the prophecy foretold, then there's reason to believe he's your True Love." 

"You can't be serious." 

"Athenaeid do not joke about prophecies, Emma," Regina scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"But  _ true love _ ? Is that — you can't mean —" 

Mary Margaret cuts in, stopping her sputtering. "Does that mean we can save him?" 

Belle opens one of the books in front of her again, silent for a few moments before shaking her head. "I really can't say for sure. True Love is a fickle thing, and Dreamshade even more so." 

"And True Love is the most powerful magic there is," Regina adds, a brightness in her eyes that Emma has never seen before. 

(She's not too fond of it, either.) 

"What the  _ hell  _ does this even mean? That I can— _ what— _ true love's kiss the poison away?" 

Belle and Regina share a silent glance. Belle wets her lips. Regina raises her eyebrows. 

"Well," the Magistra mumbles. "Yes, there's a chance of that." 

A loud, gasping laugh escapes her chest, one she just couldn't keep down. "This is  _ crazy _ . Absolutely  _ insane. _ " 

"There's a chance it's much more complicated than that, too, though," Belle says quickly, trying to save Emma from spiraling too far. "In fact, it's much more likely to be more complicated. Something more along the lines of your being the only person who  _ can  _ save him." 

It works. This is much easier for her to wrap her mind around, unlike the rest of the information Belle and Regina have sprung on her in just the last half-hour. This, at least, makes sense. More sense than her being one of the most powerful types of fae, or the fact that there's a prophecy. This, at least, she can deal with. 

"So now, she needs to be trained, right?" Regina asks, and Emma feels her heart beat in her throat. 

_ How long could that take?,  _ she doesn't have the ability to ask. There's a time crunch, she  _ has to save Killian, she can't _ — 

"Well, if she wants to save this man from Dreamshade, she certainly doesn't have time to stick around here long enough to master anything," Belle says, once again saving Emma from the spiral she was threatening to get lost in. "Honestly, you should get back to the rest of your group and make way towards Neverland as soon as possible, in my opinion." 

"What?" Emma blurts out, even though she agrees with everything the Magistra just said. "You're just going to drop this information on me and… send me away?" 

Belle shakes her head. "Of course not," she says cheerily. "I have to come with you." 

  
  


Killian’s heart is in his throat as David knocks on the door to the cabin. He thought he was going to be okay, back here where Smee was killed and he was kidnapped, but he’s thinking the worst: that no one will open the door. That all of his friends, practically everyone he has left, are gone, taken by the same for that he barely escaped from. For what feels like forever (but in reality can’t be more than a few seconds) no one answers the door. 

And then there’s a  _ thud _ on the inside, followed by the muffled “ _ Bloody hell _ ” that can only belong to Will Scarlett. Killian and David exchange a smile, an almost-literal weight lifted from Killian's shoulders, and the door opens. 

At first, Will can’t believe his eyes, which are practically bugging out of his head (Killian’s pretty sure it’s the longest he’s ever seen Will not speak). He doesn't blame him, though, because he can only imagine the conclusions they drew about Killian when they returned that day to find him missing, with Phillip dead on the floor of the kitchen. 

It's the first he's thought of this, really, since he has been spending so much time trying not to hype himself up with the thought of them surviving an attack from Pan and Baelfire, but now that he knows they did, he wonders. What  _ did _ they think when they returned back that day? They all knew his history, knew that he spent the first years as a soldier working for Gold. Did they think him a traitor to his newest allegiance, think that he returned to the Nephilysis army that betrayed him all those years before? 

He hopes not. The only thing he has ever wanted to be is a man of honor, and he hopes that the men he has spent the better part of the last ten years with understand that. 

Killian is pulled from the worst-case scenario in his mind when, instead of saying anything, Will practically jumps through the door and wraps his arms around David, who, after a moment, hugs him back. 

Killian smiles. Even if they believed the worst of him in the weeks he's been away, returning at the Prince's side is a sure sign his allegiance has not shifted. 

"Holy shit," Will whispers, shifting his hug from David to Killian, then he says it again. “I saw someone coming up towards the cabin on the radar but I never expected—” 

From behind him, Robin emerges from the kitchen, dish towel slung over his shoulder. "Will, who was at the—" And then he meets Killian's eyes over Will's shoulder, then David's. "Holy shit." 

"That seems to be everyone's response here," David says, rushing through the doorway to embrace his oldest friend. 

"Why didn't you say you were coming? You could have contacted one of us?" 

"Honestly, mate," Killian says, taking his turn in giving Robin a hug. "We weren't sure if any of you would even be here, since I was kidnapped by Baelfire from here. If it was still safe, or if any of you were still alive." 

"Who else is here?" David asks, closing the front door as he finds a way to ask the question that Killian was too afraid to:  _ was anyone else killed when they came for me?  _

"Graham was out back somewhere, but I imagine he should be in any—" 

Robin's words are cut off by the man in question coming through the back door and calling out: "Is someone here? I got a notification that someone drove through the sensor in the driveway and I—" He comes around the corner, holding his phone out in front of him, but when he sees Killian and David standing inside the door, his words stop. For a moment, the entire cabin is shrouded in silence, waiting for someone to break it. 

“What are you doing here?” Robin asks, and David wraps his arm around his shoulder. 

“I think we should all sit down,” David breathes. “This might take a while.” 

“So, what, we just have to find this Merlin guy?” Will asks, his mouth still full from the last bite of his sandwich. 

“Christ, Scarlett, don’t you listen?” Robin scoffs. “Finding Merlin is the first step.”

“And the easiest,” David mumbles. 

Killian leans forward on his elbows, momentarily forgetting about the worst of his injuries, though he is painfully reminded almost immediately. “Once we find Merlin, hoping he still has my brother’s ship hidden away somewhere, then we have to _fly_ _to Neverland.”_

“And what if — pardon me for asking, but what if he doesn’t have your brother’s ship?” Graham asks, always the most level-headed of them all. 

All eyes turn to Killian, who turns his gaze down to the table. 

But David speaks up with an answer: “Then we just have to find another way to get to Neverland.” 

The room is silent for a minute, until: 

“I thought you said this ship is the only way to get to Neverland?” Will asks, once again missing the feeling in the rest of the room. 

Killian nods. “Yeah, that’s what I said.” 

Another beat passes, all attention on Will, waiting for him to understand what Killian is trying to say. 

“Oh.” He scrunches his face, a soft embarrassed red spreading across his already-red face. “So what’s our plan then?” 

Killian turns to David, who gestures for him to take over. “Well, our only hope is Merlin, and I haven't been able to get a hold of him. There's rumor he's somewhere in the Northern Mountains, hopefully still with  _ The Jewel of the Realm _ , and I have a pretty good idea as to where, so I suppose that's our next destination." 

The room falls silent again, each of the men around the table trying to decide just how to feel about all of this — Killian’s torture, the need to travel to new lands, to  _ fly _ . But David doesn’t let them ruminate for long. 

"Pack your things, fellas. We probably have a few days still, but we leave as soon as the ladies meet us here."


	6. THE ATHENAEUM // THE CABIN, Part 3

The ride from Nephilysis to Prince David’s cabin outside the Northern Mountains takes a day and a half, stopping only when necessary — and most of those hours are completely silent, Mary Margaret, Regina, and Belle with their noses in books and notebooks when they’re not driving, but Emma finds herself unable to concentrate on anything outside of her own mind. 

Emma spends the whole ride — the time it's not her turn to drive — still trying to wrap her mind around everything. By the end of the first day, the only thing she can do to keep herself grounded is text Ruby, filling her in on everything she’s learned at the Athenaeum. 

Or, almost everything; she doesn't know why, but she leaves out the part about Killian. Everything else almost seems believable compared to that, and she thought she would be fine just ignoring it. 

Ruby, of course, is unsurprised by the news of her being a Vis. Everyone around her is unsurprised by the news, apparently. 

_ You really never knew? _ she asks.  _ I always just assumed you stayed quiet about it.  _

She thought she could handle herself, stay composed when they get to the cabin, when she sees Killian, but she finds herself incorrect. 

Seeing him with this new knowledge, seeing the warm way he smiles at her when she walks into the cabin, is too much for her, and her stomach flips as she turns on her heel to walk back out. 

Mary Margaret says something to cover for her, but her voice is nothing more than buzzing in her ears, and she shuts the door behind her perhaps a little too loudly.

She doesn’t care. She has to get away. 

Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, she calls Ruby. When she doesn’t pick up the first time, she tries again — not usual for her, but she’s in dire waters here. 

Ruby answers the phone on the fourth ring with a grumble, which Emma ignores. 

"He's my true love," she blurts out. 

"What?" 

"I thought I could — along with everything else, I thought I would just be able to ignore this and just try to save him, but this is different." The words come pouring out of her, trying to keep up with the million miles a minute that has become normal in her brain. 

"Emma, what the hell are you even talking about?" 

Finally, she takes a deep breath, though she can feel her heart pounding in her throat. She tries to make the words come out slower, but by the time she reaches the end of her thought, she’s sped up once more. "Belle told me I'm a Vis, left her duties as Magistra to help train me because we're in a time crunch, but that's not the only thing she told me. There's apparently some sort of prophecy about a Vis and a Fae who don't know how powerful they are until they come together and need to use their powers to save each other. Their powers, and the power of their true love." 

Ruby scoffs. "And they think it's about you? And Killian?" 

"Belle seems to think so. It's apparently from some collection of writing from this Neverland place, one of the only things they've ever been able to decipher completely. Apparently Neverland is one of those places where, once you get there, you don't leave. Or can't. And that's why no one knows anything about it." Her mind is so muddled by it all that she can’t remember what she’s already told Ruby, or what they learned together before she left the hospital, but Ruby seems to understand. 

"But Killian's been there before? And he left?"

"Well, he hasn't shared the whole story with us yet, but I don't think it was a very positive experience for him. David knows more about it than I do, but I think — I’m almost certain at least one person didn’t make it out alive."

"And you guys… have to go back? To cure him from the effects of this poison?" 

"Yeah." 

Ruby lets out a low whistle. " _ Damn. _ " 

The line is silent, Emma giving Ruby a chance to wrap her head around everything, but it doesn’t take long for her to come up with one of the very questions that has been rattling around Emma’s mind: "So then, because of this true love nonsense, you really are his only hope?" 

Even though Ruby can’t see the way she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, she somehow knows that Ruby knows she is doing it nonetheless. "Yes. What that's supposed to mean I have zero fucking clue, but… yes." 

Another low whistle. “You really have yourself in a predicament there, Swan. Though there could certainly be worse prospects for your True Love.” 

At this moment —  _ of course  _ — Killian steps out onto the porch, and she feels the embarrassment that crept up her cheeks deepen, though the stump she has taken a seat on is still a fair way away from him. 

She laughs, trying not to let the  _ Ruby's right _ thought take up too much room in her mind as she tries to change the subject. "How is everything going at the hospital? Did you get the replacements?"

"He's there now, isn't he? Either that, or you agree with me."

Ruby always was able to read her like a book, even over the phone, and sees right through Emma's ploy. She smiles. "Yeah. Just answer the question." 

"Emma, come on! Which one!" 

"Both," she says quickly, surprising even herself, trying to hide her smile as she glances quickly at Killian on the back porch; and then, "Now, did you get the replacements?" 

Ruby laughs, and Emma can see the way she tosses back her head, letting it move through her whole body. "I'm almost upset you left me here." 

"I wouldn't trust the place in anyone else's hands, Rubes." She tries to stuff as much sincerity and appreciation in her voice as she can, only hoping Ruby picks up on it from hundreds of miles away. 

If she does, she says nothing, though finally answers the question Emma's been asking, a seriousness to her voice that wasn't there moments before. "Johanna's been here for a few days and Blue just got here this morning. Ashley finally delivered, no issues. We probably would have been okay with just Johanna, but I think Blue is glad to be away from the war for a while."

Emma feels a soft smile curve across her lips. "I understand that completely." 

"Any idea how long you'll be?" 

Out of instinct, Emma turns to the porch again, where Killian is sitting under one of the lit lamps, a few moths flying around over his head. He smiles at her, raising his hand with a wave, which Emma returns. "I don't even know where I'm going." The anxiety of it all washes over her: she really  _ doesn't  _ know where she is going, doesn't know what will be asked of her, between this prophecy and her new knowledge of being a Vis, not to mention this whole  _ true love/saving Killian  _ piece that has to fit in this adventure somehow. "There's a lot about this I'm not sure about, really," she mumbles, talking more to herself than her friend. 

But Ruby answers anyway. "If anyone is capable of succeeding at something like this, it's you, Emma Swan. I've never seen you take on more than you can handle." 

"I appreciate that you have faith in me, but what if this is finally it? What if I've finally gotten myself in too deep?" 

"Then you'll find a way to pull yourself out. You always have, and you always will." 

Emma smiles, trying to instill a little of Ruby's confidence in herself. 

Before she comes up with a response, though, Ruby says, "Now, I gotta go, and I'll let you get back to lover boy—"

"Ruby!" 

"Don't forget to update me from your far-off lands. And be careful."

"I always am."

Emma ends the call, though her eyes stay on her cell phone until after the screen goes dark, searching for the very confidence that Ruby just instilled in her, which seems to have already disappeared. Sliding her phone back into the pocket of her jeans, she wraps her arms around her torso, hugging herself. She forgot about the temperature change this close to the Northern Mountains after spending the last few years in all the same climate, and especially after the warmth of the city, and the chilliness of the dusk air quickly seeps into her as soon as she focuses on it, her skin already cold to the touch. She hopes she remembered to pack a jacket, at least for the next few days in the Northern Mountains — though who knows what the weather in Neverland could be like. 

_ Neverland.  _ How the hell did she end up in this situation, traveling with a pack of soldiers, the Prince and his betrothed, a sprite council member, and the Magistra to a land they have never heard of? This is just the type of thing that she thought she left behind when she traded in her medic's bars to start her own maternity hospital, needing to live a life far from the death and destruction of the War. What brought her into this mess?

_ Killian, _ she reminds herself. Killian Jones, who fought and forced his way out of a prison camp and back to freedom, who lost his hand in the process — only to find his way to her hospital? A man who, against all odds, has a connection to her oldest friend, the Prince of the Gale, and found his way through the rain and the mud and the  _ entire damn war  _ just to end up in her hospital.

_ Killian.  _

A violent shiver forces it's way through her body, shaking her shoulders and her knees. She's cold, much colder than she's been in a while, and knows she should go inside and find warmth, a blanket or a jacket and a nice cup of hot chocolate. 

But she knows what's waiting inside for her: questions and expectations and too many people needing too many things from her. 

When she looks up from her stump, she sees Killian slowly making his way across the yard to her, his leather jacket removed to reveal a dark blue sweater that clings to him in all the right places —  _ no, stop,  _ she tells herself.  _ Don't go there. _

"My apologies if you're trying to have some alone time now, love, but I couldn't help but notice that you're without a jacket, which isn't opportune in this weather."

"Thank you," she says, taking the jacket from his hand and slipping it over her shoulders. The inside is still warm from his body heat, she realizes, remembering that he was wearing it when he stepped out onto the porch. "It's been a while since I've been in weather this cold, not since I used to travel around with David, and I've sort of forgotten that cold even exists." 

He sits beside her on the stump, far enough away that his arm only grazes hers every once in a while, not pressed up against her. "No need to worry, I have some sweaters and jackets here from when I was here last that you can surely borrow for the journey." 

She turns to him, trying her best to offer him a soft smile, though she does find it difficult. "Thanks," she mumbles, then lets out a small self-depreciating laugh. "You can just add that to the list of things I wasn't prepared for when I left home." 

"Yeah, Mary Margaret was saying that you discovered you're a Vis, I can't even imagine that." 

She nods, though her mind is instead on the prophecy.  _ A Vis and a Fae _ . Though, as far as she's aware, Killian's not a Fae. 

"You don't have any abilities, do you?" she asks, trying to broach the subject gently, though she realizes immediately that she fails. 

He shakes his head. "Liam — my brother — was a dryad, hence the airships. We were never sure about our parents, though. Mum died when I was very little and our father disappeared one day not long after, but neither used any powers that Liam could ever remember." 

If he wants to know why she asked, he keeps it to himself, even as she offers him no response. The silence that settles between them is soft, not thickened by awkwardness or tension, and Emma is thankful for it. It's the first time in hours —  _ days,  _ at least — that her mind is not travelling at top speed, and she seizes the opportunity to take a deep breath, close her eyes for a moment, and focus on the soft sounds of the forest around them. 

"What about you?" he asks after a while, and when she turns to him, she finds him staring at her intently, almost as if he is trying to take in every detail of her. Normally, she would find advances like this overwhelming, almost  _ creepy _ , but there is something in Killian's eyes — a softness, almost, more of an appreciation than anything else — that seems to calm her, even as he asks questions that bring up her past, something she tries to hide from and avoid as often as possible.

She doesn't feel that here. 

"I never knew my parents," she says calmly, as if it's not the biggest regret of her life. "They gave me away when I was just a few days old. I don't even know their names." 

"I'm sorry, Emma," he whispers, reaching his hand out to take hers. It's the simplest of gestures, his fingers wrapping tenderly around her hand, but it seems to light a spark within her, a warmth that has nothing to do with the jacket and a shiver unconnected to the crisp air. An air of confidence washes over her, bigger and more powerful than the one she felt while on the phone with Ruby, and she lets it wash over her and clean the dust and doubt that hide in her darkest corners. Suddenly, everything about this mission feels attainable: flying in a ship to an unknown land to retrieve the antidote needed to save Killian. It's as simple as that, really, and she feels like nothing can stop them. 

_ Them.  _

Her and Killian. 

Together. 

  
  


_ Everything around him is dark. Dark rocks, dark fields, dark, dark jungle as far as the eye can see. But they’re not in the jungle; in fact, they’re up on a cliff, looking down over it all. It looks so small from up here, the path that’s taken them three days to get through. Up here, he feels like he can see the whole island, though he knows it’s much bigger, since he has actually seen it from above.  _

_ A whole  _ island  _ that no one had ever heard of, that’s been missing from maps and history books simply because… why? Nothing about Neverland is simple, he’s learned. It’s — what word did Pan use? —  _ alive. _ It’s  _ alive,  _ hidden from maps and books and knowledge because it wants to be.  _

_ Killian turns around to where Liam and Pan are standing beside a large bush, their arguing voices covered by the rushing of the waterfall behind them, but Killian can still tell they are fighting by Liam’s use of his hands. The three of them were the only men to leave the  _ Jewel of the Realm _ once it took anchor off the shore of the foreign land, so they are alone at the top of the cliff.  _

_ Pan turns away from Liam to face Killian as he approaches them. "I can assure you, Captain, Dreamshade is a very valuable asset to King Gold because of its immense healing power. I don't know where you found these books your brother speaks of, but I grew up on the island, so I would certainly know."  _

_ "See, Killian, I told you."  _

_ "Yes,  _ Killian _ , trust your brother,” the boy spits, accentuating his name much more than necessary, almost mocking. “Come help us gather some of these branches, but be careful of the thorns. We want to make sure as much of it gets back to the King as possible."  _

_ There is still something about the boy —  _ Pan  _ — that Killian can't stand, and he watches as he carefully snips off the end of a branch and drops it in the nearby pouch.  _

_ Killian narrows his eyes towards the boy. "If the plant really does have healing powers, then what would be the need of avoiding the thorns? What is it going to do, heal me too much?"  _

_ Pan opens his mouth to respond, but Liam beats him to it, stepping back towards the bush, moving slowly away from Killian. “Come, now, brother, don’t be like that. The king would not have sent us on such a diplomatic mission if it weren’t for the good of everyone, and he certainly would have informed us if we were to collect a deadly poison instead of a plant with healing abilities.”  _

_ Pan smiles, and the sense of fear that Killian has felt since the King gave them their mission suddenly becomes paralyzing because of it.  _

_ Something is wrong.  _

_ “Here, I’ll even prove it to you,” Liam continues, grabbing one of the branches from the bag, and before either of them can react, he slices the skin of his arm with one of the thorns.  _

_ At first, nothing happens, but the way Pan stares at him wide-eyed makes Killian’s stomach turn. _

_ After a few more seconds pass, all with no reaction from Liam’s arm save a scratch in his skin from the thorns, he shrugs. _

_ “See, Killian, I told—” His words stop in an instant, his eyes going wide as he turns down to his arm. _

_ Where moments before there was only a scratch, the cut has now turned black, the darkness webbing out along his arm and up under his rolled-up sleeve. He tries to say something, but his throat is quicky closing, and Killian is by his side just in time to catch him as he collapses. _

_ “Brother—” he chokes, and the blackness appears from under the collar of his uniform, spreading up his neck. _

_ Killian can’t believe it, and he whips around towards Pan, who is leaning casually against a tree, a sly smile across his adolescent cheeks. _

_ “Why didn’t you stop him?!” Killian screams, clutching tight to Liam's body. “You knew this was going to happen! You could have stopped it!” _

_ “Well, where’s the fun in that, Captain?” _

_ “I have to get him back to the ship, back to the crew, show them exactly what the king sent us here for!” _

_ As soon as Killian lets go of Liam, though, Pan flicks his wrist and whisks his body into the air. “I’m afraid not. Your brother is never going to leave Dead Man’s Peak, ironically enough.” Another flick, and Liam is propped against one of the rocks along the edge of the water — and with another, Killian’s hands are bound behind his back. _

_ Rightfully, he’s furious, but no matter how hard he fights against his restraints, he somehow knows he’ll never get out. “What do you think you're doing?!” _

_ “I’m just doing as Baelfire ordered.” _

_ “The Prince ordered you to kill my brother? To take me hostage?” _

_ “Oh, no, nothing quite so intricate. He simply ordered me to make sure the Dreamshade arrived back in Nephilysis by any means necessary. You and your dryad brother were simply pawns in a much bigger scheme.” _

_ Suddenly instead of anger, Killian is overcome with a paralyzing sense of fear. “What are you going to do to me?” he asks, his voice much softer than even moments ago. Trembling. _

_ “Well, see, now I’m going to make your crew believe you killed your brother for power so the prince can gain control of your whole fleet of ships.” _

_ “Why are you telling me this?” _

_ Pan smiles, another flick of the wrist, and Killian finds himself unable to speak, all of his words coming out as mumbles. “Because no matter what you say, Baelfire is going to have you killed."  _

_ Killian is tied to the mast, his crew standing in a circle around him, every eye on him. He  _ knows  _ that many of these men — men that he has known for years, one that he’s known for most of his life — don’t believe the lies that Pan is spewing, but they’re all smart enough not to argue with him, backed always by Prince Baelfire. Not to mention the woman, the woman he  _ loves _ , though he hasn’t had the nerve to tell her yet. The woman that’s not even supposed to be on the ship with them, that he  _ begged  _ Liam to let come. The woman whose eyes are brimming with tears, he just knows it, but he can’t bring himself to look at her.  _

Milah. 

_ "The power the Admiral gained must have been too much for him," Pan says, his eyes filled with a fake sadness, but Killian knows  _ (hopes) _ no one else sees it that way. "He saw how important the healing abilities of Dreamshade were going to be to the King and decided to kill the Admiral and take all the glory."  _

That’s not true! _ his mind screams, but there is nothing he can do about it. Pan and Baelfire have worked their charm over the crew, and even if anyone did take his side, they would just be tossed overboard to their deaths with him. He knows at least some of his crew must be loyal to him, knows that they must  _ know  _ he would never usurp power from Liam.  _

_ Right?  _

_ Instead of focusing on Pan or the Prince, or even his love, he looks around the circle of men, searching for Merlin. Merlin, his oldest friend beside his brother — his oldest  _ living  _ friend, now — is the smartest man either of them ever met, and he must know this is all a rouse for the prince to gain more power. He  _ must  _ know that none of it is real. Finally, he finds him, and though he is weak from whatever charm Pan cast over him when they left Dead Man's Peak, he can focus on his friend enough to recognize his slight nod, the understanding in his eyes. If nothing else, he has Merlin on his side, and hopefully he is able to carry out the plan they discussed not long before about what they should do should the  _ Jewel of the Realm _ ever fall into the wrong hands — as it is about to do.  _

_ "Killian Jones," Prince Baelfire says, his voice loud, booming, demanding, and every eye on the ship is drawn to him — though Milah, he notices, is still looking only at him. "I find you guilty of treason and sentence you to death. Usually aboard a ship, the penalty would be walking the plank, and I do believe that would be equally efficient in these circumstances."  _

_ Milah screams, but no one acknowledges her, which just makes Killian’s heart break more. _

_ Killian gulps. Pan smiles, though no one seems to notice.  _

_ "B-b-but your majest-t-ty," First Mate William Smee tries, his voice shuddering with fear. "We're th-thousands of feet in the — in the air!"  _

_ The Prince whips around to face him, anger obvious on his features, and Smee practically cowers away. "That is precisely why it will be efficient, Smee," he growls between gritted teeth, then turns back to Killian, who has just a few more steps to reach the plank.  _

_ He turns quickly, hoping to find Milah’s face one more time before falling to his death, but she is no longer looking at him. Instead, she has fallen to her knees on the deck, the winds whipping her wild, dark hair around her face, which she holds in her hands.  _

_ “I love you,” he whispers, which uses all the strength he has left.  _

_ "To your death, traitor," he says, and a whoosh of magic from Pan’s hand pushes him over the side of the ship, falling towards his death and towards the waters below. _

His eyes snap open moments before he hits the surface of the water, though every inch of his body remembers how it felt. But instead of the freezing cold that he expects, he feels… warm? Off-balance. Delirious. 

It takes him a moment to get his bearings, because everything around him is dark. There’s a light weight on his chest, a warmth emanating from it and through his whole body. 

“Hey, hey, no, you’re alright,” a voice whispers in his ear. 

_ Emma’s  _ voice. 

She's comforting him, the soft light of her magic illuminating where her hands are pressed against his chest, relaxing him. A few more moments, deep breaths, and he has come to completely, so he relaxes, leaning back into her arms. There is something about her, something about the way she takes care of him and the care she has shown him since she first laid eyes on him in her office that he appreciates immensely, and he can't help the thoughts that come in his sleepy haze about how she has come to mean more to him than that. He hasn't opened his heart up to the idea of love his whole , but he can't help but think maybe, if they somehow succeed at their mission and save his life, he may be able to no longer hide from the feelings that he has been pushing deeper and deeper down. 

"You can't be comfortable like this, Swan," he whispers, realizing for the first time the position they are in on the back seat of the truck, but he is apparently wrong, since she's fallen asleep with her hands on his chest and her head resting back against the pillow pressed against the window.

He quickly drifts off. 


	7. THE NORTHERN MOUNTAINS, Part One

"Oi, I thought you said you knew where we were going, Jones!" Will yells from the back of the group, his mouth still half-full from the apple he's been working through over the past few minutes — the apple that he seemed to procure out of nowhere, a few of them realized, after complaining for the first leg of their walking journey about his hunger. 

(Only Robin noticed the shy smile from the Magistra, paired with a quick wink, when she pulled it from a nearby tree and tossed it to him.)

"It's been upwards of twenty years since the last time I was here," he calls back, though this attention never leaves the trail in front of him. "I'm sorry if I don't quite remember the way." 

"Remind me, why did we  _ all _ have to come on the walking part of this journey?" Will groans, and though both Robin and Graham have curses ready on the tips of their tongues, David turns around from his spot next to Killian and silences them all. 

"Because we're a  _ team,  _ Scarlett. We're all in this journey together." 

"Not to mention these woods are filled with powerful enchantments, if something were to go wrong we my never have been able to find each other again," Belle adds. 

(Will seems to appreciate Belle's answer more than the Prince's, but no one comments on it.) 

"These enchantments just mean we're getting closer," Killian announces, filled with a new energy that wasn't there moments before, and he pushes his way through a large bush. 

"How does he know that?" Mary Margaret whispers to David, her hand holding tightly to his. A gifted tracker, she feels uneasy in these woods, knowing neither what they're looking for or how she can help. All she can do is hold tight to David and hope Killian is leading them the right way. 

David shrugs. "But I trust he's right," he whispers back, then presses a soft kiss to the back of her hand. It's all he can do in the moment, knowing just how uncomfortable she feels in this situation, but it  _ does  _ provide her the smallest bit of comfort. 

They follow Killian for a few more minutes, each of them searching for some kind of sign that they're on a path to Merlin — or at least to civilization of some sort. 

Emma follows close behind Killian, her focus set on the fluidity of his movement, whether he seems to be in pain or affected by any of the many wounds that cover his body, though besides the fact that he tries to use his newly-blunted left hand every once in a while to move a branch out of the way or steady himself against a tree, he seems altogether unfazed by them. In an ideal situation, Emma would have him resting, confined to his bed until she could be more confident in his healing. 

But this is far from an ideal situation. Perhaps even the exact opposite. 

"Wait!" Belle calls out suddenly, and everyone stops in their tracks, turning to face her as she makes her way up through the line to where Emma is standing. 

"What's the matter?" David asks, but Belle seems intently focused on Emma. 

"Close your eyes," she whispers, coming to stand right in front of her. "Concentrate." 

The rest of the group is silent — except Emma. 

"What?" 

"Close your eyes and tell me what you feel." 

"We don't have time for this," she mumbles, trying to get the Magistra to move on, but Belle shakes her head. 

"My purpose on this mission is to train you to use your powers, Emma. That's going to mean we have to stop for a minute or two every once in a while." 

She knows Belle is right, but it's not her decision, so she turns to face Killian, who is already watching her intently. 

He shrugs. 

So she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. The forest sits unmoving around them, and everyone is trying to feel the same things Belle is trying to get Emma to feel. She breaks the silence after a few moments, asking, "What am I supposed to be concentrating on?", opening one eye to look at Belle. 

"Everything," Belle whispers. 

She closes her eyes again, trying her best to concentrate on… everything. The rustle of the leaves on the trees, the smell of the plant life in the air, fresh and  _ alive  _ and— 

"No offence, ma'am, but you're wasting time here." Regina's voice cuts through the sounds of the forest, and Emma's eyes snap open once more. "Can't you just tell us what you feel? Instead of relying on someone who has never done this before?" 

"Have faith in her," Belle says, her words restoring Emma's confidence that was shattered when Regina opened her mouth. "She's going to need this skill once we reach Neverland. I'm just planning ahead." 

Emma feels a warmth on her shoulder, which she realizes after a moment is Belle's hand. "Now tell me, Emma: what do you feel?" 

She tries again. The rustle of the leaves. The smell. The soft breeze on her face, the movement of the whole forest around her: each leaf, branch, and flower. The animals, the insects. But there’s something else, something… deeper. Unexplainable. Something she’s never felt before, but it makes her absolutely sure that—

She snaps her eyes open, quickly finding Killian in the group. The look on his face is almost too much to handle, intrigued and in total awe of her, and if she wasn’t so focused on this, on this  _ feeling _ , she may have noticed how instead of freaking her out, it actually seems to  _ calm  _ her. 

“Something is coming.” 

Belle smiles, obviously proud of her newest pupil, but it only lasts a moment, because everything begins to change rapidly. The woods become thicker, darkening around them, and each of them is still, as silent as their surroundings have fallen — and shocked. David moves first, his hand flying to the pistol resting on his hip, and it sets off a chain reaction, everyone around him drawing their weapons. 

Except Belle, who raises her hands to try to calm them. “It’s a protection from the forest. Whatever is here can not be found unless the person who set up these protections wants it to be.” 

The feeling of defeat that washes over the group is almost as thick as the still-darkening forest, and they’re all still for a moment — except Killian, who releases his hand from his dagger and calls out for Merlin, his voice echoing through the trees and a smile growing across his face. 

For a moment, nothing happens. But Killian doesn’t lose faith, and calls out through the forest again, taking a step forward in what he believes to be the right direction. 

The unexplainable darkness that they all felt lightens, the sun shines through the foliage. The birds begin to sing once more. A path opens up for them. 

“Oh, no, no, you can’t be serious,” Regina chides as Killian takes the first step through the still-dense forest. “We are  _ not _ following you down the path that just  _ mysteriously _ appeared in front of us.” 

Belle shrugs, raising her eyebrows at Regina. “Well, I am.” 

One by one, each of them move to follow Killian through the woods, until only Robin and Regina are left. He glances at her, offering a small smile and a shrug to her still-outraged expression, but he gestures for her to go first. 

“Are you really not going to let me go last?” she scoffs. “I  _ am  _ an elder.” 

“Yes, that may be true, but I’m a trained hunter with a rifle and I would feel much more comfortable if you went first.” 

She barks out a laugh, but pairs it with a smile and a nod before taking off after the rest of the group. 

The woods continue to lighten as they follow Killian, and Emma can somehow  _ feel  _ the confidence coming off of him, the excitement, and she moves to walk beside him. 

“Do you even know where we’re going?” she whispers, and he turns to smirk at her. 

“I can feel it somehow, Swan. The forest, it’s like it’s… it’s talking to me, telling me where to go.” He exhales, shaking his head. “That sounds insane.”

“No,” she says quickly, but pairs it with a small laugh. “No, that’s one of the most sensible things I’ve heard in days.” 

_ Much better than ‘true love,’  _ she says to herself. 

Before too long, the trees open up into a clearing, revealing a small cabin that looks like it belongs in a children’s book: perfectly parallel timbers, a bright red front door, a perfect wisp of smoke coming from a wooden chimney. And a man standing on the front porch, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. 

  
  


_ The three boys sit around the small fire, the sounds of the dense forest louder than the cracking of the fire. But they’re paying no attention to any of it; instead, all three are focused only on the older man who sits on the only chair on the porch, his large boots propped up on the side of the fire pit.  _

_ They’ve heard a lot of the man’s stories in the three years since they came to live with him, the Jones brothers left by their widower father and Merlin a straggler that Liam found on their travels and simply couldn’t leave behind, feeling the same need to protect him that he’s felt since the day Killian was born. The same need to protect that Nemo himself has felt since he first saw the three boys in the street of the nearest town.  _

_ But of all the stories Nemo has spun for their amusement, this one is, by far, Liam’s favorite.  _

_ The tale of the man and his airship.  _

_ “You see, he discovered a way to harness his own powers and the powers of the sky,” Nemo says, his voice captivating enough to keep the boys’ attention even after all of the times they’ve heard his story. “No one thought it was possible, everyone told him just to let his dreams sink as many of his prototypes did, but with every failed attempt, he was just that much more eager to prove everyone wrong.”  _

_ It was a tall tale, a fable — absolutely unheard of, really. One of the tales Nemo first heard on one of the ships when he worked for King Gold, years and years before, before he left that life and moved to a cabin hidden in a remote forest in the Northern Mountains. But still, some of the things he learned during that time stuck with him, and he always missed the salt of the sea on his face, missed the sense of duty he felt when he was sent on diplomatic missions.  _

_ And he remembered the stories. It was the only way he could think to amuse the boys, realizing very quickly that fatherhood was not something he was naturally called to after bringing them home from the streets they were living on.  _

_ He really didn’t mean to light the fire of obsession under Liam Jones. He really only wanted to keep them entertained. But Liam’s room is covered with drawings of ships, measurements taken from some of Nemo’s books and science from his own mind: ships with sails  _ and  _ wings, made for both flying and sailing. It was a dream that he never imagined would come true, just something that took up room in his mind — until the day his powers revealed themselves. He was out on the nearby lake, crammed into a metal fishing boat with Killian and Merlin and testing models, prototypes made more out of boredom than anything else. A large wind passed around them, pushing its way through their hair, making the hair on their arms stand at perfect attention.  _

_ But, alongside the chill that the wind brings, Liam feels something deeper, a strength that he cannot explain that warms the deepest parts of him.  _

_ “Do you guys feel that?” he mumbles, somehow knowing they did not.  _

_ Merlin just laughs, holding a small sphere of water in his hands, taking every occasion to hone his own abilities (and maybe show off a bit, as a twelve-year-old would be expected to do.) “What? The wind?”  _

_ “No, no,” he mutters, not necessarily in response, but mostly to himself. He remembers the stories told by his mother of the day she learned she was among the mer-folk, able to control water: a new lightness to her bones, a pounding excitement in her heart that she could not explain. A strength beyond anything she had ever felt before, that worked its way down into the very core of her.  _

_ He feels all of that, unable to shake it off. He’s always feared for this day, knowing that his mother’s abilities are what got her — and many of the other mer-people in their small town — killed under an order from Gold. There was always a change that he would have her powers, always a chance that he would also be able to control water. With a deep breath, he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to gain control of his feelings. He holds his hand out over the water, trying to feel the power of the lake moving through him,  _ trying  _ to remember how his mother explained it to him.  _

_ But it doesn’t work. The water doesn’t react to him at all, and he is unable to connect with its power despite being surrounded by it.  _

_ The wind whips around them again, almost  _ laughing _ at him, though he has no idea where that thought comes from.  _

The wind. 

_ Is it possible that he— _

_ He tries again, but this time focuses on the movement of the air around him, the soft whisper of the breeze over the surface of the water, all of which stops abruptly when he wills it to.  _

_ “Did… Did you do that?” Merlin asks, sitting up a bit straighter from his seat in the boat.  _

_ All Liam can do is nod, a weight in his throat making him unable to do anything more. Killian’s bright eyes go wide with excitement.  _

_ “To the air?” He asks, trying to confirm.  _

_ Liam nods again.  _

_ “But I thought mum had water abilities?” Killian asks, his dark eyebrows low on his forehead.  _

_ “She — she did,” he stutters, still trying to wrap his own mind around it all. _

_ “And your father wasn’t a dryad?” Merlin asks.  _

_ “Not that he ever revealed to us.”  _

_ The three of them are silent, the wind moving on its own accord around them once more. The small model ship bobs on the water next to them, and it seems to catch the attention of all of them simultaneously.  _

_ Liam smiles.  _

_ “This might just be crazy enough to work.”  _

_ It takes a few tries, Liam still trying to figure out how to harness his own abilities, but before too long, he has lifted the prototype ship from the surface of the pond and sent it flying.  _

_ Anything is possible.  _

  
  


“I didn’t know if you would be happy to see me or not,” Killian says, a small choke in his voice, as he wraps his arms around his childhood friend. 

Merlin pulls away from their hug, his hands still on Killian’s shoulders. “What in the world are you talking about?” 

But Killian’s gaze is still on the ground, everything about him a little slouched. “Everything that happened, with Pan and Liam and Neverland, I never knew what kind of lies they spewed about me, but I could never—” 

Merlin stops his rambling with another embrace. “Killian, Killian, stop. You don’t have to explain yourself.” 

“Really?” There’s a brightness returned to his eyes that had been missing for a while. 

“I never believed any of it. Liam was your best friend, anyone who knew you knew that you couldn’t kill your own brother.” 

“Did they tell you I was dead?”

“I saw you fall from the ship and land in the water, but I always knew, somehow, that you would find your way back here.”

“So does that mean—” 

Merlin smiles, wide and bright and full of excitement. “That I kept my promise? Of course.” 

Killian never really explained to the rest of the group  _ how  _ Merlin would be the only person with an airship after Gold destroyed all of them, and when he pulls a thick silver chain out from under his shirt, revealing a glass bottle holding a ship no larger than an index finger... the question has still not been answered. If anything, many of them have more questions than before. 

“You have to tell me what you’re doing here first, though,” he says, taking a step back to allow them into the house, and he sweeps his eyes over the group, standing in a semi-circle around his front door. “All of you.” 

One by one, they follow Killian into the house. Immediately, Emma is overwhelmed by the sheer feeling of  _ home  _ that overcomes her when she steps through the large entryway. As someone with no roots of her own, she is taken aback by the sheer amount of trinkets and photographs in the cabin, signs of  _ family  _ and  _ home  _ and things that she was never given the opportunity to experience. 

“My god,” Killian whispers, slowly making his way around the large open room with Emma following close behind. “You didn’t change a single thing. Everything is exactly as I remember it.” 

Merlin laughs, closing the door behind Robin, the last of their party to enter. “Are you kidding? Nemo never let me.” 

Killian turns in his heel, probably much faster than he should have given the state of his body. He winces a bit, his hand flying to his chest more out of excitement than pain, and every feature is filled with excitement. “You mean he’s—” 

Merlin merely laughs, sitting down on the arm of the couch as he watches the rest of them take in the intricacies of the cabin. “Alive? Of course. Did you really think that man could die?” 

“Is he here?” 

“Not currently, actually. He met a man recently in one of the taverns in the nearest town, and though he’s only referred to him as a companion to me, I think there’s a little something more blossoming between them.” 

“Any idea when he’ll be back.” 

“He comes and goes like the wind, you know that.” 

“Aye, that I do. And as much as I want to wait for him, to see him again after all these years, I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“Not enough of a hurry that you can’t all sit for a cup of tea? Maybe some lunch?” 

“Oh, I really don’t know—” David starts, but Merlin smiles, gestures to the table, and they all watch in amazement as a feast appears before their eyes. Will curses under his breath. Even Regina is taken aback by Merlin’s abilities.

It’s a kind of magic like none of them have seen before, save Killian and Belle, and though David doesn’t yet know how to ask the man to join them on their journey, he has a feeling that he’s found the missing piece to solving the puzzle of saving Killian’s life. 

  
  


Lunch goes by with barely a word said, the party not even realizing how hungry they are. Merlin doesn’t seem to care too much, watching them intently from his own seat at the table. But once they have slowed down, have fulfilled the hunger that’s built up on their journey, he leans forward on his elbows, taking a quick look at all of them before focusing on Killian. 

“So, are you going to tell me what brought you here to get your ship, or not?” 

Killian coughs, almost choking on his tea. 

“Dreamshade,” Mary Margaret blurts out, and though David turns to her with his eyes wide, Merlin doesn’t seem caught off-guard by this. 

“I’m surprised it’s taken them this long to find you, to be completely honest. Can I see the wound?” 

Killian carefully lifts the bottom of his shirt, until the wound over his heart is visible. He doesn’t like the vulnerability of this, his heart pounding as Merlin stares at it. For a few moments, he simply stares, seemingly mesmerized by its iridescence, before lifting his fingers towards it. Killian says nothing — would of  _ course  _ let his oldest friend touch his wound, but even so, Merlin raises his eyes to look up at Killian before making contact with his skin. 

“May I?” he whispers, and all Killian can do is nod. 

As soon as Merlin’s fingers touch his skin, he slams his eyes shut, expecting the worst, expecting something to hurt, but it doesn’t. He expects something reminiscent of the warmth he feels when Emma touches him, but he feels nothing. 

Across the table, Emma watches wide-eyed as Merlin’s fingers make contact with Killian’s broken skin. More than anything, she wants some sort of reaction, hoping for some sort of sign that could get her out of this whole  _ true love _ nonsense. 

Instead, Merlin’s magic does nothing, soft, black smoke emitting from the tips of his fingers, but there is no reaction from the dark magic in his chest. 

Nothing. 

When Merlin pulls his hand away from Killian, it’s almost as if the whole table emits a sigh, collectively letting out a breath that they all were simultaneously holding. 

Will is, of course, the first to comment, breathing out a nervous laugh that breaks the terrific silence of the cabin. “Well, that was anticlimactic.” 


	8. THE NORTHERN MOUNTAINS, Part 2

“I have an idea,” Merlin says, his voice barely higher than the crackling of the fire. He hopes it’s only loud enough for Killian to hear. He may not know the rest of Killian’s party too well, but he has a feeling that if the Prince were to hear his idea, he would be against it. 

(His feelings are usually right.)

Killian hums in response, tightening his grip on the cup of coffee in his hand. 

“If you’re going to take the ship to Neverland, you’re going to need to start by getting it onto the water somewhere. Somewhere secluded."

“You’re right,” he mutters. “I hadn’t thought of that.” 

"Nemo’s been out along the coast for a while, and from what I’ve heard, this guy Shakespeare has a house right on the water, away from everyone else.” 

"Okay?" 

“Plus you know Nemo would love to see you.” 

This only draws a smile from Killian. 

“What do you think?” 

Instead of answering Merlin directly, Killian speaks out to the group, specifically making eye contact with David, who is sitting directly across the fire pit from him. “I think we should leave in the morning.” 

The Prince nods, a hardness in his blue eyes evident in the bright firelight. “As long as Merlin has the ship, I don’t think we need to delay any longer.” 

“And have the ship I do,” Merlin comments. 

“Plus whatever Killian needs to do to make it fly, or whatever, and we’re good to go.” 

Killian and Merlin share a look, then a smile. “Oh,” Merlin says as cooly as he can, turning back to David. “For that to happen, I need to come with you.” 

“That wasn’t what we discussed.” 

At this, Killian speaks up. “To be fair, you never asked me about anything beyond getting my ship from Merlin.” 

Killian can feel the way Regina rolls her eyes without even looking in her direction. “So, now he has to come with us, too” she huffs. 

“Well, if you want this ship to even make it out of the bottle, then yes.” 

“Can’t the Magistra just do it?” 

“Not all magic is the same, Regina,” Belle comments. “I’m sure it’s taken years of practice and honing skills to really figure all of this out.” 

“And Merlin trained the rest of the elders under Gold’s order when we were working for him,” Killian adds, a fact not really necessary to the conversation, but he wants to rid anyone of the notion that Merlin would be an unnecessary addition to their rag-tag group. 

A beat passes, accentuated by a loud _pop_ from one of the logs in the fire pit. 

“So we leave tomorrow,” David says, a sense of finality in his voice that silences any argument anyone would have had. 

  
  


_"You're gonna like this," Liam whispers, nudging Killian with his elbow. It takes him a moment to shake off the lag from falling asleep in the back of the car, but once he does, he follows Liam's gaze out the front windshield, watching as the horizon turns from the hills and mountains he's known his whole life to the flat, steady blue of the ocean._

_He doesn't even realize his jaw hangs open until Liam chuckles at him._

_Brennan pulls his eyes from the road for a moment to glare at Liam in the rear-view mirror. He was never allowed to have any fun, was scolded and tormented by his father in place of a childhood — why should his boys be any different?_

_Liam snaps his mouth shut, meeting his father's gaze with a glare of his own until Brennan turns his attention back to the road. He never even knew to imagine what a better life would be like until he made friends while Brennan was fighting the War, until he saw that some people's fathers treat them like humans, treat them well and care for them. He had always just assumed that a mother's job was to love and a father's was to discipline, because that's how it worked in the Jones household._

_Until their mother got sick, at least. She wasn't strong enough to fight it, was what Brennan told his boys, but Liam never believed it. Alyce was the strongest person he met (though, to be fair, he didn't have much to compare to). He always told himself, especially during the late nights while he watched over his younger brother, sleeping peacefully in their shared bed, that whatever she found on the other side of life was better than anything she knew here, better than her life with Brennan, even if it did mean leaving her boys behind. So, as often as he could, Liam made sure that Killian didn't fear smiling, didn't shy away from having fun, just because Brennan made him feel that way. As often as he could, Liam put himself between Brennan and Killian, protecting him both from harm, and from having his childhood torn away from him as Liam had._

_When he looks back at Killian, he is still staring out the windshield at the ocean, a small smile on his face. "A better life," was where Liam told him they were going as they loaded their few belongings into the back of Brennan's car._

_He just hopes he was right._

_It feels like almost moments later that Brennan stops the car, and Liam realizes they are in a parking lot not too far from the beach, which he can see over the small dunes in front of them._

_"We're here," Brennan says gruffly, then steps out of the car without another word, looking around the parking lot._

_Liam turns to Killian on the back seat, hoping that he can come up with the words of wisdom that he so desperately wishes to impart in this moment. "No matter what happens, Killy, just know I'm going to be here."_

_Killian's dark eyebrows lower into a confused_ v _. "I thought you said this was going to be a better place?"_

_"I can only hope so. But no matter what this man is like, I promise I'm always going to be here to protect you and watch over you."_

_He smiles, soft and childlike, though there are so many emotions hiding behind it that a six-year-old should not even know about, a sadness that Liam hopes he never has to see again._

_"Brennan Jones?" a loud, booming voice outside the car calls out, and they both turn, wide-eyed, to look out the rear window to watch theman approach the car._

_"He looks scary," Killian whispers, and Liam shushes him — though he's not wrong. He's a large man, both wider and taller than Brennan, with thick arms and thick legs and a thick, dark mustache set on his thick, dark face._

_Brennan nods. "Captain Dakkar, I assume?"_

_"Aye, but you can call me Nemo."_

_"Liam! Killian!" Brennan yells, realizing the boys are still sitting on the back seat, and he turns to them with another glare._

_"Remember what I promised," Liam whispers, pulling the handle to open the door, and he slides off the back seat before reaching out to help Killian._

_"He can do it himself," Brennan scolds, but Liam takes his younger brother by the hand anyway, and refuses to let go, even after Killian has closed the car door. He can feel the heat of Brennan's glare on the side of his head, but he doesn't care; all he cares about is giving a good impression to this man —_ Nemo _— while simultaneously trying to portray his protection of his brother in his eyes._

_Nemo meets his gaze, fierce brown eyes finding Liam's bright blue ones, but if he has any thoughts going through his mind, they make no appearance on his features. He turns to Killian, squatting down so that he is almost at the young boy's eye level. "And who are you, young man?"_

_"That's—" Brennan starts, but Nemo holds up his hand, stopping him immediately, though his attention stays on Killian._

_"I would like him to speak for himself, thank you."_

_Something about this line makes Liam's heart pound._ Is that a good thing? 

_Killian's hand tightens in his. He squeezes back for good measure. The man's face still sits stone-still._

_"Killian," the boy says, trying his best to keep his fear, his worry, his anxiety out of his voice, off of his face. "Killian Jones."_

_Captain Nemo smiles, holding his hand out to shake Killian's — the one that is not holding tight to his brother._

_Killian takes it. "Very nice to meet you, Mister Jones. My name is Captain Nemo Dakkar, and I will be taking care of you and your brother from now on. Will that be alright?"_

_Killian looks to Liam out of the corner of his eye, and Liam gives him a slight nod, paired with another squeeze of his hand._

_"Yes, sir," he whispers._

_Nemo nods, then straightens back up. "Say your goodbyes, boys. I'll get your bags from the car."_

_"You can't—" Brennan starts, but when Captain Nemo whips around to face him, there must be something on his face that silences whatever he was going to say._

_"I insist."_

_Brennan nods, turning instead to the boys. "Good bye." His voice is emotionless, even as he looks at his younger son, who is trying not to shake with sadness._

_"Why are you doing this?" Killian asks, tears welling in his eyes. Liam wondered if he was going to break, since he has been so silent on the subject since Brennan first told them they would be travelling to a new home._

Because I don't want you anymore _, his glare reads perfectly clear. "Don't question me," is all he says, which basically means the same thing._

_Killian sniffles, but says nothing more, turning up to Liam as he tries not to let the tears slip from his eyes. He nods, and without another word, they turn away from Brennan and follow Captain Nemo to his car._

_Good bye's aren't necessary when you're leaving a man who has no love for you. They can only hope the next stop proves to be better._

_And it does. Living with Captain Nemo proves to be better than anything Liam ever allowed himself to believe his life could be. Even when he finds himself scrutinized by the Captain, he always waits for the hot sting of a hand against his face or the hateful words he heard so often from Brennan, but they never come. For all the hardness in his gaze and the scars that run up and down his arms, Captain Nemo is nothing but kind to the Jones brothers._

_(Liam has a feeling that part of it comes from his ability to see the pain that ran so rampant in their pasts, the abuse that they suffered at the hands of Brennan, but he can also tell that there is a true, genuine softness to him that Liam has never experienced in his fourteen years.)_

_They have been staying with him for almost two months when he returns from the marketplace one day with a strange addition: another boy, around Killian's age, who hides behind the Captain for the first two days he spends at the cabin._ Merlin _, Nemo tells them his name is, and once he faces his fears and realizes that no one there wants to hurt him, he turns his attention from the tall captain to Killian, following him around like a lost puppy but barely saying a word._

_Until: "I've never seen eyes so blue," he whispers one day when Nemo and Liam are making dinner in the kitchen, leaving the two younger boys alone in the living room._

_At first, Killian doesn't realize the words came from Merlin; he thought he was hearing things, and shakes the idea away._

_"I thought only the sea could be that color," he continues, and this time Killian doesn't think it was his imagination. He whips his attention towards Merlin, who is sitting next to him on the couch._

_"What?"_

_Merlin quickly turns his gaze to the floor, his embarrassment evident on his face, though his dark skin makes it difficult for Killian to see the red tinge. "Your — your eyes," he says again. "I'm amazed at how blue they are. Even in the books I've read at the library, I've never seen a picture capture that color. It's like magic."_

_Now it's Killian's turn to blush, heat running to the tips of his ears._

_“Th--thanks, I guess,” he mumbles, not sure how to take the compliment. He’s been given so few compliments in his life that he’s certainly not yet comfortable with them._

_“I think we’re going to be friends,” the boy says, smiling over at Killian._

_He hopes he’s right._

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Robin asks, following Merlin’s latest direction and pulling off the paved road onto a small, rough gravel pathway that cuts through the woods. 

Merlin tosses Killian a glance, rolling his eyes. Killian just shrugs. “ _Yes_ , Locksely.” 

Robin huffs. 

David chuckles. 

Not for the first time, Killian turns to glance at Emma in the seat behind him. Something between them had shifted since she and the other ladies returned from the Athenaeum. He hasn’t been able to put his finger on how, on what exactly feels different, but he knows it’s something. He constantly feels himself drawn to her, pulled into the room she is in when they are idle, sitting next to her whenever he has the chance. If something has changed for her, she has given him no sign, save a few small shared smiles. 

But right now, she is paying no attention to him, her focus solely on the book spread open on her lap, one hand holding the pages and the other holding her head up, her elbow propped against the window. While she has certainly not had very much of it, she has spent her free time since returning from the Athenaeum reading through a collection of books that Belle brought with them or trying out small spells in the palm of her hand. He's amazed by her resilience, her ability to adapt and overcome, has been since he first met her, but seeing the way she has dropped everything to save him — to travel from her safe haven — to travel to a _whole new land_ — has only escalated it. 

They're not on the gravel road for very long before the stone turns to dirt, quickly clouding around them. Killian turns his attention back to Robin, who eyes him in the rear-view mirror. He can tell that he wants to question Merlin again, but he keeps his mouth shut and his worries to himself. 

Everyone is eerily quiet, watching the cloud of dust forming around them. Emma and Belle have even looked up from their books. It's only another minute before the woods open in front of them, but when it finally comes into view, the entire party exhales. 

The cabin that appears before them is nothing exciting, very similar to the one they left behind — but the view of the ocean that sits behind it is breathtaking. It’s exactly as Killian remembers it, that ocean that stretches out before them in either direction. He’s almost relieved when no one answers his knock on the door, because it gives him the chance to take himself down to the beach and reacclimate himself with it, the smell of it and the blue, endless in every direction. It reminds him of Liam — he hasn’t been to the beach (or, been able to _enjoy_ the beach) since before they joined the Nephilm military. A wave of sadness washes over him, sadness and grief and pain that comes every time he thinks of his brother, but a deep breath and a long exhale send it floating out above the water. 

He wants to remove his socks and boots, to feel the sand between his toes once more, but he can feel the eyes of the rest of the crew on him as he stands just beyond the reach of the tide. 

_How much does he care?_

He doesn’t, he concludes, and kneels in the sand to loosen the laces of his boots from the hooks just enough that he can kick them off and leaving his socks tucked into them. The water is cold as it washes over his feet, but it renews his energy in ways he can barely explain. With his eyes closed, he doesn’t see Emma and David follow suit, leaving their shoes with his on the sand and standing on either side of him in the surf. He doesn’t even realize that they are there until he feels Emma’s hand slip into his, squeezing gently. He smiles softly at her, hoping that his thanks is apparent on his face because he doesn’t trust himself to speak. 

He turns back to the water, his thoughts no longer on Liam, but on her once more. He tries to let the sound of the surf wash them away, wanting to be able to focus on this moment, and it almost works — _almost_ , until he hears a voice call to him from a ways down the beach. 

“Are these ghosts I see, or is Killian Jones standing before me?”

“Captain Nemo,” he breathes, dropping Emma’s hand to take off down the beach. He doesn't run; he’s not sure if he has the energy for that. He doesn’t move much faster than the old man moving across the sand towards them. 

The man looks almost the same as Killian remembers, his face perhaps a bit more weathered, his gait a bit slower, but mostly the same — except there is something that _feels_ different about him, an aura that he sees to give off, Killian realizes as the old man wraps his arms around him, minding his obvious injuries. It isn’t until his companion, a shorter and much greyer man in rolled-up cotton pants and and half-unbuttoned shirt, comes to stand beside him, until Nemo smiles at the man and proudly introduces Killian that he realizes what this feeling is: happiness. Joy, even more than he had when Killian was younger. 

“And who are your friends?” the other man — _Shakespeare_ , Killian remembers Merlin calling him — asks, gesturing towards the rest of the party spread out across the beach and the lawn. 

David, to no one’s surprise, steps forward, holding his hand out towards Shakespeare and introduces himself first. 

“You must be their leader.”

"Is it that obvious?" he asks with a small smile. 

Shakespeare just chuckles, turning to the rest of the party. "And the rest of you?" 

David introduces the rest of the party, Shakespeare and Nemo offering the same welcoming smile to them all — especially Merlin as he makes his way down the hill to them all. 

"He never was one for the beach," Nemo mutters, tapping Killian with his embow. They share a soft smile, another wave of emotion rolling over Killian as the tide washes over his feet once more, but this time, it's not sadness — it's joy. 

Peace. 

"So now, lad," Nemo says, though his voice makes it obvious he is speaking to all of them, and he sits on the sand, gesturing for Killian to do the same. "I do think it's time for you to tell us what it is that brings you back from the dead and up to this palace by the sea." 

"It's quite a long story, I'm afraid," he says, already trying to straighten it all out in his head as he sits in the sand next to Nemo. 

“And we don’t have much time,” David adds, as if reminding Killian of the graveness of their mission. 

“Best to start right away then, I suppose,” Shakespeare quips.

With a deep, shaky breath, that is exactly what Killian does, diving right away into the depths of his past — though for Nemo, he begins with the last of what Nemo knew to be true: Liam’s death in Neverland. 

“Any chance you and the wizard there could make some food appear?” Will mutters to Belle. She lets out a small laugh, closing her eyes as she shakes her head at him, but slowly moves across the sand and up the small hill to where Merlin is still sitting in the grass. After a small conversation, unheard by the rest of the group, they both work to create a small buffet table filled with all sorts of food: roast chicken and cheeseburgers and mashed potatoes and the most beautiful and delicate-looking peach and cherry tarts that everyone _knows_ came from Belle. 

Everyone has had their share to eat — including Killian and Nemo, who were brought plates by Shakespeare and Mary Margaret — by the time Killian gets to the end of his story, finding Merlin at the cabin in the heart of the Northern Mountains.

Killian waits for the question that seems to come from everyone else — _can I see the wound?_ — but it never comes. He’s relieved, really, being seen as more than a specimen by someone who has heard his full story. 

Though he also hopes it’s the last time he ever has to recall it. 

For a few moments, Nemo sits silently beside him, working on another cup of tea. The dainty mug looks almost cartoonishly small in his large hand and it clinks against the saucer when he sets it back down. 

“And Merlin still has Liam’s ship?” 

“Aye. I saw it. Just a bit of magic and she’ll be all ready to sail to Neverland once more.” 

“And hope,” Mary Margaret adds, finishing her own cup of tea not too far away. “It always helps to have hope.” 

  
  


Merlin takes a deep breath, carefully rising to his feet in the center of the small boat. They’re cramped together, all eleven of them insisting that they needed to come with, needing to see the great _Jewel of the Realm_ emerge from the waters — as long as that’s really what happens. The whole party is holding their breath and Emma can feel it _all_ somehow, either due to her newfound closeness to them or the physically cramped deck of Shakespeare’s small fishing boat — the pounding of their hearts beating quickly, loudly, almost as one. Merlin grips the small glass bottle and closes his eyes, his hand emitting a soft purple glow that seems to get brighter with the words muttered under his breath — and then, in one quick movement, his eyes snap open and he throws the vial out into the water. 

Those who dare to breathe gasp, and Killian reaches out his hand almost unconsciously, wrapping his fingers around Emma’s. Otherwise, there is no movement from any of them. 

For a long, still moment, nothing happens. A chill runs down Emma’s back, a lump threatening to climb up her throat. But it’s stopped when the world around them rumbles, shakes like an earthquake. 

Merlin smiles. Killian’s grip on Emma’s hand tightens, and when she turns to look at him out of the corner of her eye, he is smiling, too. 

A crash startles them all, immediately followed by a large wall of water that falls across their boat. But when it clears, the sight that lies before them takes Emma’s breath away again, though this time it is a good thing: there, bobbing before them on the calm sea is a ship — beautiful, pristine (smaller than Emma expected) — sails billowing in the soft breeze coming off the water, including one made of feathers at the front of the ship. 

(Emma’s never seen a ship before, but she imagines that’s not a normal sight.)

“I never thought I would see her again,” Killian mumbles, his attention still focused on the ship as he slowly rises to his feet. 

“I thought they were just legends,” Robin says. 

“Shall we board her?” David asks. The answer is obvious. 

Nemo maneuvers the fishing boat further out into the water until they are close enough for David and Graham to swim to the _Jewel_ and weigh anchor as per Killian’s instructions, then help the rest of them climb on board, the small fishing boat tied to the side of the ship. 

“And you remember how to fly her?” Merlin asks, coming to stand beside Killian at the helm. 

“Gods, I hope so,” he mumbles, only loud enough for Merlin and Emma to hear. 

“Let’s get her back to shore,” David announces after a few minutes of snooping around the vessel. “We shouldn’t wait too long before taking off.” 

“Shouldn’t we wait until morning?” Will asks skeptically, and Killian has a feeling that he may be the first of them to get sick among the waves. 

“Actually, we’ll need to sail at night,” Killian says, wrapping his fingers around one of the wooden pegs on the helm. “Need to follow the stars to Neverland.” 

For a moment, everyone is silent, thinking about this statement. More than ever before, standing on the deck of the _Jewel of the Realm_ , this mission feels real, tangible, but also attainable in a way that wasn’t possible without real proof of the existence of the old airship.

“Tonight, then,” David says, meeting Killian’s gaze with a nod. “We pack our things and leave around sundown.”


	9. OFF TO NEVERLAND

Killian has never felt so alive. Sure, it’s comparable to the first time Liam’s “pegasus sail” worked, the first time he realized his feet were no longer on land, but somehow coming back to it all after all these years is _more_ , it’s _better_. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s known it was possible but has been so far removed from it; he knows that part of it comes from the love of the sea that he’s fostered since the first time he saw it with Captain Nemo, a love that always felt like a newer, better tie to Liam and Nemo and positive relationships. 

Something is different. He may not be able to really put a finger on what it is, but he has a feeling that it has something to do with the people that are here with him now, twelve years after he was forced to walk the plank thousands of feet above the water, twelve years after he was thought to be dead.

Twelve years after his last trip to Neverland, after the death of his brother. 

He doesn’t miss the irony of going back to that same place on the same ship. 

“Alright, Captain,” David calls, coming back from belowdecks. “What else needs to be done?” 

_Captain_. He never wanted to be a captain. He only ever wanted to stay with Liam, wanted to follow wherever their adventures took them. And he never expected it to be death and destruction, working for a corrupt king and a masochistic prince. There’s so much he never expected with his life, really — but all of it brought him _here_ , the sun setting at his back and his brother’s ship — _his ship_ now — bobbing on the gentle evening waters. 

He knows there is nothing else to be done, since he spent most of the day out here on the deck, making sure the sails are secured and making notes of spots on the deck or the railings that have weakened in the years that Merlin kept it in the bottle. 

(She’s in excellent condition given she’s spent the last twelve years in a bottle after almost being destroyed due to King Gold’s orders, though he imagines that Merlin may have fixed some of the damage before putting her in the bottle in the first place.) 

They’ve packed all the supplies in the cabins, though a bit of an argument ensued when Killian insisted David and Mary Margaret set themselves up in the captain’s cabin. Beyond being the Prince, David is the obvious leader of their group; by putting them together, it frees another bunk in the crew’s quarters. 

None of them mention Liam, and for that he is thankful — because that’s the main reason he can’t bring himself to take the Captain’s cabin. Liam is the captain, and no matter how many years it has been since he died on Dead Man’s Peak, he always will be. That’s _his_ cabin, just as the _Jewel_ is _his_ ship. 

(It’s easy enough for him to stay out of the cabin, but reclaiming his brother’s most prized possession is something else entirely. Everything about her, from her pristine paint job to her name, reminds him of the time he spent serving King Gold, and that is a time that he wants to forget more than anything, but what is he going to do, _rename her_?) 

“I believe, Your Highness, that we are ready to take off,” Killian says with a grin, wrapping his hand around one of the spokes of the helm. 

“ _Your Highness_ ,” Shakespeare repeats from where he is standing against the railing, though he turns to David. “ _That’s_ why you look familiar, isn’t it? You’re the Prince of the Gale.” 

As he always tends to when he is recognized, David reddens a bit as he nods. “Yes, uh, that’s correct.” 

Shakespeare also nods, turning back to the water. “I fully understand your decision to keep that a secret. You never know the allegiances of the people you meet.” 

It’s an eerie statement, and Shakespeare’s tone of voice doesn’t help calm the chill that’s found its way down David’s spine even though he’s sure Killian wouldn’t have brought him anywhere that would put them in danger. 

“You two aren’t joining us, are you?” Killian asks, trying to ignore the same chill he feels down his own spine. 

“Oh, no, lad,” Nemo says, bringing his pacing to a halt behind Killian. “We’ve seen all the adventure we can handle for one lifetime.” He reaches out to set one of his large hands against Killian’s shoulder. “I’m just enjoying the time I get to spend with my sons with me once more.” 

It’s not the first time Nemo has referred to him as his _son_ ; he knows it’s not, yet can’t remember when the first time was. 

As Killian watches the crew ready themselves, Graham comes up to him, his thumbs pulling on the straps of his suspenders. He has ditched the vest, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, but he is still the same well-dressed, dapper Graham that Killian has always known him to be, since the day they pulled him from the water. “Just one question here, Jones,” he says, and Killian hums in response. “How do you navigate to a place that isn’t on any maps?” 

Killian has been so consumed with the thought of taking off that he’s forgotten he then has to guide them through the sky once it’s happened. “I completely forgot about that, actually,” he mumbles, but then swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, raising his eyebrows as if he’s about to tell Graham some of the latest gossip. “Thankfully I have a few secrets.” 

Graham follows him down into the captain’s quarters, where they’re greeted by a cheerful Mary Margaret. 

“My apologies, love,” Killian says, leaning against the doorframe. “Mister Humbert here has reminded me that, after we manage to get this ship off the water, I still need to navigate us to Neverland.” He begins to saunter through the room, to the opposite corner behind the desk where he _hopes_ his brother’s secret possessions are still stashed. A key in the desk drawer, a few knocks with his fist on the wooden panel, and a _prayer_ , and it pops open. By now, they have a larger audience, with Emma and David joining them and Robin watching from the other side of the door, and Killian smiles when he hears the panel open with a _pop_. “Thankfully, Liam was always a master notetaker,” he says, reaching into the slot to pull out a basket holding a small stack of notebooks, some rolled-up star charts, and Liam’s sextant. “Even when we were told not to.” He drops everything else on the desk, but keeps one of the star-charts in his hand, which Mary Margaret helps him unroll. He smiles, looking down at Liam’s perfect penmanship across the detailed map. “But, by ignoring Gold’s direct orders to make no notes of how to get to Neverland, he has made it possible for us.”

Together, they lay the star-chart out across the desk, holding it open with some of the trinkets, and Killian can't help the proud smile that takes over his facial features as he remembers watching his brother obsess over making these charts, taking notes on the stars in his head as Pan guided them to Neverland. They're not quite finished — he planned to add the last parts during the return trip, a memory that hits Killian like a knife to the chest — but they're close enough that Killian can fill in the rest from his own memory. 

Still staring down at the drawings laid across the desk, he says, " _Now_ I believe we have everything we need to take off." 

Though it only takes a few more minutes to prepare the last few things and say goodbye to Nemo and Shakespeare, it feels like _hours_ to Killian, whose whole body is practically humming with excitement. The last thing he’s ever wanted to do is return to Neverland, but he finds himself impatient now, wanting nothing more than to take off from this dock and begin their voyage across the water and the air. 

Hell, he doesn’t even know if it’s going to work. He knows that part of the magic that helped guide the ship off the surface of the water was from Liam’s powers as a dryad, and he’s obviously not here anymore, a fact that seems to sting a little more every time it comes up recently, especially here, on the deck of his ship. 

But he knows that Merlin has talked it all through with Belle, and they were practicing with dinghies before shifting to the _Jewel_ throughout the day. By the time they are ready to take off, they seem to have it all figured out, working together but on opposite ends of the ship, just as Killian remembers Merlin and Liam doing. The sails are down, both the fabric and the feather; the enchantments have been cast, and now all they need is to lift the ship off the water. 

The first attempt is a failed one, with the hull crashing back onto the waves after rising just a few feet. They all take a moment to recompose themselves, take some deep breaths and refocus their energy. Even Emma finds herself focusing on the feel of the hull rising up, leaving the waves behind and floating above the water — higher and higher — and when she does open her eyes once more, she finds that it has happened. 

They've taken off. 

  
  


_“Are you ready, brother?” Liam asks, his hand excitedly squeezing Killian’s shoulder where he stands at the helm._

_If this hadn’t been the twenty-seventh time they’ve tried this in the last three days (yes, Killian’s kept count), then maybe there would still be some excitement left. Of_ course _he wants Liam’s idea to work, but everything Liam has done recently has been in hopes of getting this to work, and every waking moment has been spent looking at diagrams of ships with feathered sails and discussing theories about what kinds of magic they might need to get the ship off the ground. (And there’s a part of him that wishes he had powers, wishes something would have shown itself in the two years since Liam discovered his powers on the lake, but nothing has happened yet, and Killian is about to stop holding his breath.)_

_“Aye,” is all he says, trying to feign some excitement, if only because he knows how excited Liam is for this to work. Last month, they lifted a dinghy off the surface of the water for a few minutes; two weeks ago it was a fishing boat, borrowed from one of the older men in the village under the guise of seeing what it was like to fish on the ocean._

_(Killian had also hoped that they would have made time for that, too, but every moment they spent on the water, out of view of the old men who sit by the beach and gossip, was dedicated to trying to get the fishing boat to fly.)_

_It took three days and two different types of hand-sewn feathered sails, an added part of the equation from the dinghy, but Killian was still in awe when Liam and Merlin finally succeeded in lifting the boat off the surface of the water._

_They did it again later that night, this time with Captain Nemo in tow, and the two of them watched, eyes wide and mouths agape from the inflatable life raft, as the hull of the ship left the waves, floated a few inches above — a few feet — and then slowly, carefully, it starts to move away from them, its only effect on the waves a soft ripple like that left behind by the wind._

_They did it._

With the ship sailing through the silent evening air, all that's left to do now is wait. Everyone but Belle and Merlin, focused on flying the ship through the clouds (and both elders, who have no need for sleep) — and Killian, who is too excited by being back in the sky again, back on his brother's ship, to sleep. He sits against the helm, a flashlight wedged between the stokes and the railing behind it shining on Liam's journals spread on his lap. 

The only sound on the deck comes from Belle and Merlin standing together at the bow of the ship, no longer needing to be fully focused on the ship now that she is sailing across the sky, most of the work now done by the enchanted pegasus-feathered sail and the wind itself. So instead, they're conversing. 

It started out with their backgrounds: Belle having trained under Gold's father, Malcolm, and Merlin learning almost everything from the books Nemo could get his hands on. 

("That man finding me on the street was no mistake, I'm sure of that. Without him, I probably never would have discovered my powers, and I definitely would have had far less time to hone my powers than I would have if I was still worried about people seeing me wherever I was.") 

Belle is amazed by him, the shocking difference between how the two of them view their powers, but she sees every new opportunity as a chance to learn — in this case, it just happens to be about an incredibly powerful being who should have been sent to the Athenaeum to study under her but instead learned most everything he knows from books brought home from marketplaces. 

“So, you’re the Magistra,” he says, not for the first time, and Belle just nods. “Why did you decide to come on this mission? You must have more important things to do than sail to hidden lands to cure someone you don’t even know.” 

Belle shakes her head. “I came because of Emma. I think…” She pauses for a moment, then begins to pace across the small deck, glancing at Merlin while she passes by him, as if she’s embarrassed to be asking this question. “Have you ever heard of the prophecy for the One Without a Name? Enchanted Waters, The Island that Cannot be Found?” 

Merlin perks up. “How do you know about it?” 

She chuckles. “You forget, I’m the Magistra. I’m assuming that means you know about it?” 

“I always called it the Neverland prophecy. I found it when Killian and I were doing research after the Jones boys were given their commission. You think it’s about Emma?” 

“Wait, does that mean…” She stops pacing, standing in front of him once more, excitement lighting up her already-bright eyes more than the lanterns they set up. “I’ve never been able to find the full text, just references to it.” 

Now it’s time for Merlin to perk up. “Not only have I read it, but I transcribed it into my Neverland notes that I have in my backpack. If you can take over here for a minute, I can go and get it for you.” 

She takes her position at the bow of the ship, holding her hands in front of her. Merlin may have done this a few times, but in order for her to take over completely, she needs to concentrate much more than she does sharing with Merlin. 

It does only take a moment for Merlin to go below decks and get his notebooks, and Belle can barely contain her excitement as Merlin searches for the right page and hands it to her: 

_Unaware of the strength of her powers,_

_The One Without a Name will spread her wings,_

_Rising from the streets to pave a path for herself_

_To a life of healing in a world full of hurt._

_Fate will bring One Without a Home through her doors,_

_His wounds healed only by her hands._

_Bound by the Most Powerful Magic of All,_

_Their strengths will finally be revealed._

_With the Peace-Bringer they will take flight_

_On a journey to find the Enchanted Waters_

_From the Island that Cannot be Found._

_A failure for them would be a failure for all._

After Belle reads over the words once, twice, she turns her attention back to Merlin, who is watching her intently. 

“And you think this is about Emma? And about Killian?” 

Belle raises her eyebrows, shrugging. “Too many coincidences between them both, I would say.”

A beat passes. 

“What about that last line?” she asks, handing the book back to Merlin. “No notes that I ever found mention it ending with such gloom.” 

All Merlin can do is shrug. 

  
  


Across the deck, Killian is still sitting against the helm, Liam’s journal spread across his lap. He’s read through this one twice already — the last one, the one he was writing in when they left on their voyage to Neverland. Most of his energies during their trip were spent secretly taking notes on what he learned from Pan, but he still managed to spend part of every day writing down the happenings of the day in his logs and adding some of his thoughts. 

He’s stuck on one day in general, about a week before they took off and a month after they got their commission — a month after he received the _Jewel of the Realm._

_I’ve never seen a ship so pristine in my life. She’s better than I ever imagined she could be, and I continue to find myself spending every free hour aboard her decks, admiring her perfection._

_The biggest shame is that she will probably only ever see a life under King Gold. She deserves much more than that. We all deserve more than that, especially Killian. I hope that one day, he can find himself a life beyond whatever we find ourselves doing following the King._

_If this ship is ever given a new life, I hope it is one with more adventure than we have been given. Let her be taken by pirates, and let her sail under the flag of pirates instead of doing the bidding of a monarch. Let her live the life I have always wanted._

It’s a call back to one of Liam’s favorite stories of Nemo’s, stories of “pirates” who board people’s ships and take their gold. _Plundering._ Killian always wondered if it was ever possible for pirates to exist, if there was a time when the waters weren’t completely controlled by Gold and his swarms of mer-people, but Liam always laughed it off. It was _crazy_ for Killian to wonder if pirates ever could have ran the seas, but his obsession with air-ships taking to the sky was perfectly logical.

“The _Jolly Roger,_ ” he says out loud, and he was so consumed with his own thoughts that he did not even realize that Emma had come to stand beside him, missed the creaking of the boards and the sound of her boots making their way across the deck. 

“What?” She doesn’t mean to startle him, pulling him out of the deepest confines of his own memories. 

It takes him a moment to regain himself, and he smiles up at Emma. “The _Jolly Roger_. That’s what I’m going to call this ship from now on.” 

Sitting down on the deck beside him, she asks, “You’re renaming your ship?” 

He hands Liam’s journal to her. “It’s what he would have wanted.”

She quickly scans the page before returning it to Killian. “So, you’re a pirate now?” 

“Better than working for a corrupt king.” 

“I don’t know how David is going to feel about that.” 

“You know I’m not talking about him, love. He’s the furthest from a corrupt king, but I still hope to never sail under another monarch’s flag.” 

“Even David’s?” 

He’s silent for a moment, and she turns to look at him in the dim light from the flashlight behind him and the lanterns lit around the railings. 

“Even David’s,” he says, his voice so soft she almost doesn’t hear it. 

They sit like that for a while, shoulders touching, the only thing between them the silence of the night sky. After a while, he turns his attention up to the stars, the constellations — much different than the ones Liam taught him when he was younger at their home in the Southern Isles, but reminiscent of those they learned together sitting outside Captain Nemo’s cabin. 

He points to the sky, to a grouping of stars above them, but off the stern. 

“Do you see that grouping there? It makes a wave, up and down twice over.”

It takes her a moment, but she finds it. “Yes, I — I see it.” 

“That’s _Drakko_ , the dragon. We’re going to follow him on our journey home.” 

She tries to turn around, look towards the direction they’re heading. “And who are we following now?” 

He smiles, using the helm to help him to his feet, and he reaches his hand out to help her. Even knowing the state of his body, she takes his hand, but also uses her other hand to pull herself up by the helm. 

“Well, these stars were never really given names, since this part of the ocean… or, the sky, I guess, was never explored in books.” He looks around them for a moment, searching for something, and when he finds it, he reaches down to take Emma’s hand, pointing together towards a large grouping of stars. He feels _something_ as soon as their fingers touch, a warmth through his body that wipes away the chill from the night air, and he lets it wash over him before he continues. “But when we sailed this way the first time, Pan called that grouping the _Skulia,_ the skull. And those two bright stars in it, above where he thought would have been the eyes, they’re our navigational stars. The second one to the right, more specifically, is the one we sail towards until Neverland appears before us.” 

“What about when the sun comes up? How do you navigate then?” 

He laughs under his breath, even though he knows it’s a legitimate question. “Hope, really. At least in the sky the waves can’t throw you off-course like they do on the water.”

“What if we come to a storm?” 

He laughs again, squeezing the hand that he realizes he is still holding. “We hope some more. Fly a bit higher and hope we can make it over it.”

When he squeezes her hand, a surge of what can only be magic pulses through her, unlike anything she’s ever felt before. It’s warm and soft and caring, like a nice blanket on a cold winter’s night, and it’s a feeling that she wants to be wrapped in forever. 

“But how does the ship fly in the first place?” 

He’s focused on this same feeling for a moment, wondering what his connection to her could possibly mean, but when he turns his attention back to her question, he realizes that he doesn’t really have an answer for her. 

“I was never part of the process,” he says, his voice soft. “Liam was a dryad, and Merlin could do anything, but I could never…” He turns his eyes down to the deck, softly kicking the bottom of the railing in front of him with the toe of his boot. “I always just watched.” 

She doesn’t know what to say to this, so she simply doesn’t respond. After a moment, he turns his head to look at her again, taking in the small details as she looks out over the stars spread across the sky in front of them. 

He's almost certain that he's fallen in love with her, but he doesn't want to think too much about it. He knows there must be some kind of psychology behind him, that he must be so drawn to her because of the fact that she is the one who healed him, the one who is taking care of him in a way no one has since his mother. (No woman, at least. And the love and concern they got from Captain Nemo as children, as caring as it was, was still no replacement for his lost mother.) Not to mention the fact that she dropped everything, the entire life she built for herself, to come with him and try to save his life. 

He doesn't know if his feelings are admiration or thankfulness, and Neverland is certainly not the place to think about it too much. 

Maybe _, maybe_ if they make it off the island alive — if _he_ makes it off the island, he would be devastated if anything were to happen to anyone else — he'll rethink. Maybe he'll be more sure by then. But now, with the hypothetical omen of his numbered days floating over his head, he can't spend too much time harping on what _might_ happen _if_ he is able to leave Neverland _again._


	10. ON NEVERLAND'S SHORES

The hull of the ship hits the water, and almost immediately she can sense that something about Killian changes. She tries not to think about _why_ she can sense it so quickly, tries to put the idea of _true love_ and _soulmates_ and all of that to the back of her mind — mostly because thinking about the future in any sort right now almost seems too optimistic. She can’t think clearly about what’s going to happen on this island, nonetheless try to think about what _could_ happen if they _do_ get off of this island. All of them. Together. 

As optimistic as she tries to be, there is a small part of her — the same part that watched Jefferson’s condition deteriorate all those years ago — that continues to snuff the optimism about Killian’s making it through Neverland and to the place they need to get to save his life. He’s been trying to hide his weakness, but she still recognizes the small nuances of his when he pushes his body too far, the winces and the half-stifled groans. 

Her feet take her across the deck to where he is standing at the helm, looking more and more like he belongs there every time she looks at him (which she finds herself doing more often these days.) She doesn’t even seem to be in control of her own body anymore, though, when she reaches her hand out and sets it on Killian’s shoulder, once again losing herself in the warmth that washes through her every time she touches him. 

(Which she certainly hasn’t been doing more often recently just to feel. Nope.)

“Hey, are you okay?” 

He makes no sign that he heard her at first, his eyes and mind set somewhere far beyond the deck of the renamed _Jolly Roger_ — official now that Merlin has changed the painted name on her stern, the _old-fashioned way_ , at Killian’s request. She almost asks again, but then he shakes his head, one corner of his mouth ticking up into a half-smile that disappears almost immediately.

When he does speak, the words are so soft that she struggles to hear them over the waves, a problem they didn’t have when they were flying. “I thought I was going to be okay. It’s been more than a few years since I lost Liam here. Sometimes it even feels like a lifetime, or even more than that. But just seeing the island, heading towards practically the same place we landed when we came before — it’s just… all washing over me at once.” Finally, he pulls his eyes off of the waves and turns to her, a deep sadness found in every corner of his expression. “I miss him, Swan. I miss him a lot, but I’ve been so focused on the idea of getting us here that I haven’t thought about it.” 

She takes her hand off his shoulder only to reach down and thread her fingers through his, offering a soft smile as she ignores the way her warmth becomes _warmer_. “Until now.” 

“Aye.” 

  
  


The island quickly forms out of the fog before them, though they could see the shadow of it as they dipped beneath the clouds on their way down to the water. But as more of their destination comes into view, the unease that most of them could sense Killian felt starts to take over their own feelings. 

Will tries to lighten the mood. “So, Jones, do you remember how to get to where you’re going?” 

But it doesn’t work, because when Killian’s eyes rise to the sky, everyone else’s gaze follows. There, high above even the tallest trees and tall enough that they can see it from beyond the shore, sits a cliff, rough and jagged and the definition of _looming_ , appearing from behind a thick cloud that almost seems to move just to show them the cliff.

For a moment, everyone just stares in awe-struck silence, until Regina says, "Doesn't this ship fly? Can't we just fly up there?" 

Killian lets out a small laugh, though it is far too reminiscent of the one Pan gave them when Liam asked the same question all those years ago. "Afraid not. See, the thing about this island—" he starts, though the words get stuck in his throat, which he has to clear to continue. "It's… well, the way it was described to me was alive." 

This time it’s Robin who speaks up: "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

Killian takes a deep breath. He knew this moment would come, was an absolute idiot to continue putting off this conversation, though he supposes there’s no better time to divulge this than minutes away from reaching the shoreline. "The reason it's not on maps is because it doesn't want to be found. It's elusive, not always in the same place, hence why Liam and I had to learn all of these different things to be able to navigate here." 

Even though he tries to avoid looking at any of the angry faces of his friends around him, he ends up turning to David just as he asks, "And why didn't you tell us this before?" 

Reaching his hand up, he scratches the back of his ear, an embarrassed tic from his childhood coming back to haunt him. "Honestly? I was afraid if you knew the quirks of this island you wouldn't want to come with me." 

Silence. Some of them know it's true. 

Killian expects David to speak up first, but it's actually Graham: "So, what else do we need to know about this island?" 

Killian spreads the maps drawn for him and Liam years ago across the boards of the deck, maps that Pan must have believed to have been destroyed with everything else. Killian never knew why he felt so strongly that the maps couldn't leave the ship, but he's since figured it out — and it was because, somehow, he knew he would need them again. Maybe he even knew that one of them wasn't going to make it back to the ship alive.

With everyone standing or kneeling around the maps, they plan out a course: along the shore, through the forest on pre-existing paths, avoiding places like the dark forest, Skull Rock, and Hangman's Tree — places Killian knows Pans power to be the strongest. 

"Wait, you don't think he's here, do you?" Will asks, a terror to his voice that puts some of them on edge. Will has always been the comic relief, the clown of the group, and hearing him have the same fear in his voice that they all feel doesn’t make any of them feel better. 

"I'm almost sure of it, actually." 

This time it’s Emma’s turn to speak up, the first time since the start of this conversation. "But I thought he was in Nephilysis? Yanno, torturing people with Prince Baelfire?" 

"Ah, but as I said, this island is alive. Alive and connected to him in every way. He probably knew the moment we landed in Neverland's waters, if not before. And he's a demon of the magical variety, can just appear wherever he wants when it comes to this place. No, he knows we're here, but he's not going to show himself to us until he has a plan ready." 

"We can't really expect to travel as a whole group?" Mary Margaret asks, her mind already thinking through tracking scenarios. "We'd be too easy of a target." 

It’s a good thought, really, and usually Killian would agree wholeheartedly; but that’s not the case here. "Once again, I have to disagree. No matter where we found ourselves, Pan would know. We can't hide from him, so we're at our strongest together. We can break into smaller teams when we make camp, to gather supplies and the sort, but the smartest thing to do would be to stay together." 

Even as she shakes her head, still weary of Killian's plans, she knows that he is the most knowledgeable of the land around them. 

The group grows silent once again. 

"Do you have anything to add, Merlin?" David asks after a moment. "You've been to this island before, too, right?" 

Merlin, who has stayed quiet in the back of the group, leaning against the railing, shakes his head. "Not any further than the shore. Prince Baelfire wouldn't let any of us leave the ship, save to swim in the waters, and even then we were almost attacked by mermaids." 

"Attacked?" Regina asks. "I thought mermaids were docile? Just people who took to a life in the water instead of on land?" 

"Back home, aye," Killian says. "but here, they're something different." 

"Bloodthirsty," Merlin mumbles. 

"So, a living island,” Will says. “A forest that will change itself around you until you can't find your way out. Bloodthirsty mermaids. A bloody magical demon who can sense where we are and what we're doing at all times. Anything else we need to know about, Jones." 

Killian and Merlin share a look, trying to remember anything else. "Well, there are pixies,” Merlin mumbles, not wanting to be the one to add to Will’s list of Neverland’s charming characteristics. “But they're on the other side of the island. Housekeepers, really. They used to be much more — I read about them in one of the books when Liam got the commission — but most of their magic has disappeared." 

"Pixies." Regina rolls her eyes. "Great." 

Once more, the group grows silent, and silent they remain as Killian guides the ship onto the island’s pebbled shore, helped immensely by Merlin’s magic. 

"We shouldn't stay here for too much longer," Killian says finally, everyone fumbling with their packs or shifting nervously on their feet. 

Nothing he just revealed to them makes even the idea of leaving the ship any easier, but they know he is right. No matter what kinds of trials the island throws at them, their ultimate mission is to save Killian. 

So one by one, they leave the ship, wanting to be relieved that their feet are back on land once more — but the very land that they are on makes being relieved difficult. 

"Hopefully this trip works out better for you than your last trip to Neverland did," David says. Killian knows it is just a passing comment made out of nervousness and not meant to provide the knife to the heart that he feels at the Prince’s words. 

He tries to shake it off, clapping his hand against David’s shoulder as he falls into step with him, wiggling his eyebrows and flashing him a sly smile that drips as much sarcasm as his words: "Oh, but Dave, if it weren't for my last trip to Neverland, we never would have found each other.” 

_He’s falling. Falling. He didn't realize just how high the_ Jewel _flew, how far above the surface of the ocean they really were — mostly because they had to fly above the clouds, or conjure clouds below them, as if everything they did was covert._

_(In a way, he supposes it was. The fact that Gold found the technology for airships — destroyed the first time, to those who even believe they existed before, by his grandfather — was perhaps the biggest secret in all of the War.)_

_His last moments — these_ have _to be his last moments, tumbling through the air so quickly towards what can only be his death — are filled with Milah, left behind on the_ Jewel _; with Liam, left behind on Neverland; and with his mother, lost when he was almost too young to remember, saved in his memories as glimpses of dark hair, bright smiles, blazing blue eyes. Memories of warmth and love and happiness that don’t exist anywhere else in his childhood until they were taken to Captain Nemp in the Northern Mountains. He relishes in this feeling of warmth, trying to conjure a memory of his mother wrapping her arms around him — but as his body hits the surface of the water, the only memory that comes to him is watching his father out of the back window of Captain Nemo’s car as they drive away from him._

_“This is for the better, Killy, I promise,” Liam had whispered, and Killian hears it as clear as day, wraps the words around him as he breaks the surface of the water. He almost doesn’t notice the chill of it as he falls deeper beneath the waves, almost doesn’t notice the shock his body feels from the cold, and how relieved he is when he reaches the surface once more and can fill his lungs with air, warmth returning quickly to his bones._

Wait. _He’s alive?_

 _He turns his eyes up to the sky, towards where he thinks the_ Jewel _must be flying above, though the cloud coverage does make it impossible to know for sure. It must have been Merlin — it’s the only thing that makes sense. Merlin covered him with some sort of charm, to protect him from the fall and the shock of the water._

_Because he shouldn't feel warm. He knows, somewhere deep down, that something is wrong, that something has kept him from dying today. Because he shouldn’t be able to take deep breaths. Hell, he shouldn’t even be alive._

_Alas, alive he is. Alive, somehow… but still stranded in the middle of the ocean. He treads water for a while, not even realizing that he fails to tire and unable to keep track of how long. Every once in a while, he dips his head below the waves, appreciating the whooshing of the water in his ears instead of the silence of the waves around him._

_Time passes. He is unsure of how long, only aware of the sun once it dips below the clouds. It must have been_ hours _. Though he knows it is impossible, he can’t shake the feeling that he has drifted off a few times, only to awake with his head still above the waves._

 _Finally,_ finally _, he sees something. A dark ship with soft-grey sails, though it is not brandishing a flag. For the first time, he stops worrying about being found and begins to worry about_ who _might find him. What would be worse: some of Gold’s men, the same people who just killed his brother and forced him off his own ship? Or men loyal to the Gale, his sworn enemy, though he is unsure where his allegiance lies anymore._

_There is nothing he can do now; he has been spotted._

_He can only hope it will save his life, and not lead him towards losing it again._

“I think I should take over here,” David says, slashing at a few tall plants to try to make their path. It’s a course they’ve been on for some time now, taking turns heading the group, and as David says these words, he also pushes himself in front of Killian, who had been leading them. 

Killian rolls his eyes, but can’t help but wink at Emma, walking beside him. “Whatever you like, Your Majesty.” 

_“Uh, Your Highness?”_

_Graham turns over his shoulder, seeing how far away the Prince is, before turning his attention back to the water. He’s still not even sure if he believes what he saw. They are days from any shore, have never seen another ship, honestly not even sure if Gold allows ships to exist anymore — the fact that they’re even on the water out here is a dare, a ship that shouldn’t exist in waters whose ownership is questionable._

_David steps down onto the lower deck, still not quite used to his sea legs yet, and he tries to redeem himself (and his balance) by holding tight to the railing._

_“What’s up, Humphrey?” he asks, stepping next to Graham. He can feel the sweat from the sun beating on them all day, sticking his tee-shirt to his back like glue, but Graham is still in a plain white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a waistcoat. For all the times David has wondered about it, he has never asked why (or how) he always insists on dressing up. A uniform he may even understand, though he was never a fan of them himself, but an insistence on button-down shirts and vests and suspenders just feels odd to him, however_ Graham- _like it feels._

_“I know this is going to sound insane,” the man answers, never taking his eyes off the waves moving around them. “But I thought I saw a man in the water.”_

_Even when David turns to stare incredulously at him, Graham’s attention is still on the water._

_They remain silent for a few moments — the whole ship seems to be silent — both of them straining their eyes to see any glimpse of the man Graham claims to have seen here, in the middle of the open ocean._

_It’s impossible, they both know — but that does not stop them from seeing him, this time much closer to the ship than when Graham saw him before. He almost looks as if he is passed out, unconscious but still floating with his head above the water, which is another impossibility, but that doesn’t stop David from quickly beginning to act._

_“Man overboard!” he cries, turning his head towards his crew. Some of them think it’s a joke, pausing for a moment to understand what it is David just said to them, while others rush to the railing. “For gods’ sake, men, do something!”_

_This order gets more of them moving, and it is only a few moments before they’ve sent Philip, one of their youngest but with mer-abilities, over the side of the ship, diving in the water with two life preservers attached to ropes. As he heads towards the man, some other crew members lower a raft down to the surface in expectations of hauling an unconscious man onto the deck, but as Philip approaches, they realize that he is both alive and awake — and seemingly very thankful for the help. Together, the two men make their way back to the ship, Philip following him up the ladder, and he practically throws himself over the railing and onto the deck of the ship._

_“You can’t be serious,” David mumbles under his breath, turning to Graham and his first-mate Robin to see if they’ve noticed the same thing he has. But of course they have — they all have._

_He’s young, probably younger than everyone in the crew, except maybe Philip, with dark hair made unruly by the water and eyes the same color as the summer sky. But none of those things are what David sees._

His uniform is _what draws David’s attention the most, and though he can tell the man does not have very much energy, he draws his pistol from his waistband all the same, pointing it down at him._

_“Tell me your name.” It’s not a question, and the man immediately snaps his attention to David, his eyes growing wide when he sees the pistol. He holds up his hands as best he can, though his whole body seems to be trembling._

_“My name is Killian Jones. I am— I was a captain for a fleet of airships under Prince Baelfire’s charge, but he killed my brother, the admiral, and made me walk the plank as an act of mutiny.”_

_David doesn’t act right away, keeping his pistol aimed at the man’s head for a few seconds longer as he takes in more about him, though there really isn’t much._

_“Who are you loyal to?”_

_The man shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. “In all honesty, sir, I can’t say for sure anymore. I swore an oath to King Gold, and to the Prince, but after watching him kill my brother, lie to my crew, and try to kill me, I only feel allegiance to myself.”_

_David doesn’t want to tell him who he is, not yet. He wants to give him a chance — both to recover and to prove himself — before revealing that he is the man Killian has always believed to be the enemy. So, he re-holsters his pistol, a sign that makes the men around him back down, as well, and reaches his hand down to help the newest member of their crew to his feet._  
  


“You know, I never knew that about you, Killian” Mary Margaret says, using her dagger to move aside a tree that David ducked under in front of her. 

“What, love?” 

“About your brother, and that Baelfire thought he killed you.” 

“Well, it’s not a story I go around telling, y’know?” 

Mary Margaret lets out a small, awkward laugh, her cheeks growing slightly more red than usual. “Yes, I — I get that. But I never… I guess I never expected David to get along so well with one of the bad guys.” 

At this, Killian stops, his sword still hanging in the air where he was about to slice more branches out of the way. (The sword that he insisted he needed, despite more useful and appropriate weapons available on the ship.) 

“I can assure you, love, that I was never one of the bad guys.” 

“By definition alone, Jones, you were,” David says, and Killian rolls his eyes and continues forging them a path. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing, and as soon as I realized that was false, I left everything I knew behind and started over.” 

This time, it’s Emma who laughs. “You know, what you tried to do could have been seen as piracy. Are you a _pirate_ , Jones?” 

He stops for a moment, turning to her just to wiggle his eyebrows, and it is in this moment that Emma realizes that they’re flirting — and that she doesn’t even care. “Well, darling, I _am_ a captain.” 

She leans closer to him, close enough that she can feel his breath on her cheek. _Fuck, Emma, what the hell are you doing?_ , her mind screams at her, but it does nothing to stop the sly smile that spreads across her cheeks. “Oh yeah, _Captain_ Jones?” She feels his breath hitch, and she is about to let out a laugh and take over the front of the group when Will pushes past them.

“Oi, you two, stop — whatever it is you’re doing, we have a man’s life to save.” 

The tips of Killian’s ears turn a deep red, the same color as Emma’s favorite jacket, left behind on the _Jolly_ , not needed in the humid heat of the island _._ She figures no one else sees it, though, and they travel in silence for a while. 

  
  


They walk through most of the afternoon, though the trees around them are so thick they can’t judge the hour by the sun for most of the day. Though Killian has not dared to voice it, he is surprised they’ve made it a full day with no unexpected run-ins, either with Pan himself or any of his lackeys. So when they come upon a clearing, large enough for all of them to be able to set up for sleep, Killian stops them. 

Will practically falls to the ground, his back against a tree as he gulps water from his canteen — something he had worried about running out of before remembering he’s traveling with a bunch of magic-folk. 

“Do you really think we’re safe here?” Merlin asks Killian, his voice low enough that he hopes no one else hears him, but by the look in Graham’s eye when it meets his own, he knows he failed. 

“As safe as we’re going to be anywhere else,” Killian mutters, turning them away from the group, except Emma, who is standing close by and setting up her own place along a line of bushes. 

“Should some of us go gather supplies?” David asks, breaking the silence that has taken over the group, save shared whispers and grumblings. 

Everyone turns to Killian, who shrugs after a moment, swallowing a lump that has formed in his throat. “He’s going to find us when he thinks the moment is right, no matter where we are. All we can do is try to be smart about it all.” _That doesn’t answer the question,_ he thinks, though the thought is also obvious on most of their faces. “I think we should be okay as long as no one wanders off and we stay mostly together.” 

They decide to split in two, with most of them and the supplies staying back at camp: Belle, Merlin, Will, Regina, and Graham. Emma, Killian, David, Mary Margaret, and Robin take off to gather firewood and other supplies. 

They stay together as best they can, spreading out a bit to cover more ground but never more than a few feet from each other. No one says a single word, not daring to cover any of the sounds coming from the forest around them, lest Pan try to catch them off-guard. 

They are on their way back, though, when Emma, at the rear of the group, hears a twig snap behind her, and before she realizes what she is doing, she reaches her hand out to wrap it around Killian’s, both of them dropping the pieces of wood they were carrying. 

At this noise, the other three turn around, but are frozen almost instantly, their eyes wide and turned towards Emma and Killian — and Pan, behind them. 

The other three are frozen, but Emma and Killian are not, their hands grasping the other’s as if their life depends on it — and when Emma realizes that they were not frozen, she thinks that maybe, their life _does_ depend on it. 

Pan is much younger than she anticipated, even with all of Killan’s description of him. He must be hundreds of years old — she read about creatures like him in one of the books from Belle, slipped into her teachings even though it was different than all the rest. Hundreds of years old, but he doesn’t look a day over sixteen, if even that, with rounded, boy-ish cheeks and dark hair that hangs down almost over his eyes. His green tunic is tattered around the edges, worn over either tights or extremely tight black pants, and cinced together in the front by a large, bronze belt-buckle that runs around his waist. 

It’s his eyes, though, that catch her the most off-guard, because they are innocent and evil at the same time, somehow. Perhaps it’s the sneer that covers his face, or his surprise when he realizes that she and Killian have not been frozen like the others — surprise that turns to something more like excitement. He tilts his head to the side, eyes wide, and smiles at them, though there is nothing warm about it. 

"What do you want, demon?" Killian spits. 

Pan doesn’t react to Killian’s anger, instead leaning back against the tree behind him. "I mean, I think it's quite obvious," he says cooly. "I want to prevent you and your little party from reaching Dead Man's Peak alive and well—” He stops for a moment, snapping his eyes back up to Killian. He shrugs. “I used that poison on you, so I thought I wouldn't have to explain my motivation here, but—" 

"Shut up!" Emma yells, silencing both of them. 

Killian squeezes her hand, and Pan raises his eyebrows. 

"You sure are a feisty one." He looks at her for another moment, as if trying to get a read on her. "A _Vis_ , how exciting. New at your craft, though." 

"Stop that," she says, trying to keep the terror out of her voice, and she fears she failed. 

"Stop what?" 

"Reading me. Pretending you know who I am, pretending to know anything about me."

"Oh, I know more about you than you think I do. I may know more about you than you know about yourself." 

"Please, gods, just shut up." 

"Your gods don't exist here, Emma. I am the only deity on this island." 

At this, she rolls her eyes. "Oh, _please._ I'm not afraid of you." 

This was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Emma somehow knows it almost immediately. Everything about Pans countenance changes, an anger manifesting itself into every inch of him. "That's your mistake, I'm afraid," he growls through gritted teeth. 

Emma knows she did something wrong. She overstepped a boundary that she didn't know was there, but she also feels played, like she did exactly what Pan wanted her to do. She doesn't have lots of time to think about it, though, because when she blinks, she realizes what Pan has done in retaliation, and it makes her even more terrified to let go of Killian's hand, as if letting go with make what's left of the world around her crumble and would leave her alone — again. Because when Pan disappeared, he took the other three of them with him, leaving her and Killian alone in the clearing. 


	11. THE ECHO CAVES

As soon as Emma and Killian return to the camp, it’s obvious that something is wrong, even beyond the fact that half of their crew is missing. Though he can’t quite put his finger on why, Killian finds himself unable to respond to any of the questions asked by his friends sitting around the campfire. Thankfully, Emma is much more able. 

“Are the rest of them behind you?” Will asks a few moments after no one follows them through the trees. 

“They were taken,” she says, her voice flat. “By Pan.” 

Belle gasps, and though Emma has a feeling she was trying to suppress it, she hears it loud enough to feel it in her bones. She knows everyone around her would disagree, would try to make her feel better, but she _knows_ that this is her fault. She should have known better than to go up against someone that Killian continually refers to as a _demon_ , but she was just so damn angry — and played right into his trap. 

Who knows. Maybe he would have taken a part of their group anyway. Maybe he was just looking for the opportune moment to sneak in and snatch them, and when they were separated was just the moment. Maybe he anticipated Emma's anger, somehow knew exactly what she was going to say; the idea of this makes a shiver run down her spine, then back up. She hates the very thought of that, that somehow this Pan creature knows their moves before they even figured it out themselves. _Hates_ it, but somehow also has a sinking feeling that it's the truth. 

"What should we do?" Graham asks, and though both Emma and Merlin turn towards him to answer, Belle is the one who speaks. 

"Sleep." 

"Pardon?" It comes from Killian and Graham simultaneously, though the anger behind the words is most obvious on Merlin's face. 

"No matter what we do, we need to be ready for whatever Pan throws at us. In order to do that, those of us who sleep need to get rest."

It's a solid plan. It makes sense. It's the _only_ thing that makes sense, really, because none of them even know where they would be going. But it's still a plan that Killian despises in the deepest parts of himself, the parts that always want to be _moving_ , that cannot stand being idle, especially at times when there is something he needs to be doing. Now is one of those times, perhaps more than ever before, but as soon as he hears Belle's idea, as soon as his body's reaction towards it runs angrily through his body, he also realizes just how damned _exhausted_ he is. And it's only day one. 

He nods, though only Emma seems to be looking at him. "She's right. We need our strength." With a sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands at the back. "We'll just… regroup in the morning, I guess. Hopefully we'll be able to come up with a plan." 

  
  


She's not even sure that she's asleep. She knows that she tossed and turned for a while, worried about her friends, out there on this island somewhere under the control of Pan. She remembers looking up at the stars, recognizing none of the constellations in the unknown sky, and now she is here. 

It _has_ to be a dream, even though her feet hurt and her back aches and she can feel the swear running between her shoulder blades. She's certainly not at the campsite anymore, recognizes nothing around her — though she seems to be mostly surrounded by smoke, she realizes, looking over her shoulder. 

When she turns back, there are two figures in front of her, and she can't remember whether they were there when she turned around. She doesn't _think_ they were, but she has no way of being sure. Neither of them are familiar to her: the man is tall, with a small mop of dark, curly hair and bright eyes that remind her of… something, though she can't figure out what. His shirt and slacks are recently pressed, every inch of him cut and proper. The blonde, however, is a different story: her hair is wild, falling out of its braid in every direction and her light blue dress is trimmed with dirt, as if it's been worn for a very long time.

The blonde speaks first. "Emma Swan, you have to listen to us." 

Even dream-Emma has sass, and she bites back, "And who the hell are you?" 

"We don't have time for this!" the man yells, but the woman just rolls her eyes. 

"You're the only hope, Emma. You, and the Jones boy. No matter what happens, no matter what the island throws at you, you must stay with the boy." 

Apparently all the man can do is yell. "Stop calling him a boy, please!" 

Now it's Emma's turn to raise her voice, and they both turn back to her. "Can someone please tell me what the hell is happening?" 

"There is so much about Neverland you still don't know, Miss Swan—" the way the man says her name strikes her as familiar, but his voice is... wrong. "We made a lot of mistakes the last time we were here, but you and my brother have the chance to fix everything." 

It takes her a moment to put the pieces of the puzzle together — the bright eyes, the _sass_ , the lilt of his voice when he says her name — but once she does, her eyes grow wide. "Your… brother? So you're—” 

He cuts her off from even this realization. "Liam Jones, yes, yes, will you please just listen?" Emma gulps, can tell that there is something really, really wrong, and she just nods. "We know what's happened to you. We know that Pan's taken much of your party, but we also know more than that — we know where he has taken them." This is the first thing he's said that's meant anything to her. 

"You do? Where are they?" 

"They're in a place called the Echo Caves. When you wake, you'll find that Pan has left you a map. Though it may seem like a trap, I can assure you it's not. You’re going to have to reveal your secrets to get your friends back. It’s the only way." 

None of this makes sense. It makes her head spin more than it was before. A cave where they need to reveal their secrets? She just wants her friends back.

She has so many questions, but the way Liam has crossed his arms over his chest gives their conversation a sense of finality she doesn't much appreciate. 

So she turns to the blonde, who has been quiet since Liam snapped at her. "But who are you?" Emma asks. 

She smiles, though it doesn't make her features look any less sad. "You'll learn before too long." 

"Don't let your guard down, Miss Swan," Liam says, even more foreboding than before. 

They both dissipate into the smoke around them, and when she opens her eyes, she's still laying on the cold, rocky ground where she fell asleep, though the sky is brightening with the early morning sun. It was _definitely_ a dream, confirmed by the waking, but everything from it seemed so real — and so important. 

After a moment, she pushes herself up off the ground and brushes the dirt off her pants, not even saved from the dusty debris by the blanket under her. While it is all still fresh in her mind, she walks over to the campfire, where Belle, Regina, and Graham are all sitting, and recounts what she learned. 

Belle is the most taken aback, but only by the idea that Pan snuck into their camo and left a map. "I've been awake all night, and no one was here. He couldn't have left us anything."

Graham coughs, poking at the fire with the stick in his hand. "Without a map, though, where are we? Down half our crew, our Prince, with no way of finding them?" He is right, and they all know it. 

For a while, no one says anything, the crackling of the fire and the sounds of the forest around them growing louder in the silence. Will wakes first, followed by Killian, just as Merlin returns from the other side of the bushes, where he had been meditating for most of the night, but they're still quiet. 

When Killian sits next to her beside the fire, she wants to tell him about her dream, tell him that she had spoken to his brother, but for some reason, she finds herself unable — and, thankfully, no one else around the campfire says anything, either. 

They're still quiet, though, until Graham jumps to his feet, his eyes focused on something behind Killian. "What is that?" he asks, quickly moving towards it, and Emma is the only other one of them to stand up, though they're all watching him.

Attached to the tree directly above where Killian was sleeping, nailed to the bark, is a pirate-looking map drawn on an old piece of parchment. It's not the most detailed: childlike drawings of forests and rivers, with a dotted path leading them most of the way across the island, in the opposite direction as the path Killian drew out for them before they left the _Jolly_. 

"Pan must have left that," Killian mumbles, feeling the parchment between his fingers.

"I can assure you, he wasn't in this camp last night," Merlin says, also unaware of the knowledge learned through Emma's dream-meeting with Liam and the mysterious blonde. "The moment he broke through our protections, I would have known." 

But Emma just shakes her head. "I have a feeling he may have a way to get us messages like this without actually appearing." 

"I should have seen this coming, really," Killian mutters. "After everything Pans done, everything he's done to _me_ , I should have known he'd do something like this, knock us so off-course." 

Graham looks down at the map. "Have you ever heard of this place, Killian? The Echo Caves?" He just shakes his head. 

Merlin, however, clears his throat. "I've heard of them, though I haven't been there." 

_They don't know he's here. They_ can't _know he's here, have no reason to think he's on the deck. He doesn't mean to be hiding from them — really, he's meditating, and if he didn't also have to be keeping the ship aloft, he would be just as unaware of their presence on the deck as they are of his. Hell, he doesn't even know they're here until they start talking, most of the deck out of his line of vision from where he is sitting against the railing behind the mast._

 _"Now, it's just a backup plan," the younger man, Pan —_ the demon, _Killian keeps calling him — says to the prince, who looks even more unkempt and uncivilized as usual. "In case something doesn't go as planned with the Jones boys." Something about his voice, paired with his half-whispered words, don't sit right with Merlin, but he's too intrigued by their conversation to think too much of it. "But after we leave, someone will meet you on the shore. His name is Felix. You and the girl should go with him, he'll take you to a place in the heart of the island called the Echo Caves."_

_The Prince huffs, but most of him is obscured from Merlin's view by the mast. "Why? I thought you said the plan for the cliff was foolproof."_

_"I always have a backup plan."_

_"So what's the purpose of these caves? How will they achieve the same purpose?"_

_"That woman, the captain's girl, she has a secret. Something deep and dark and buried somewhere where she wants no one to find it."_

_"And?"_

_Pan rolls his eyes, his arms crossed across his chest. "_ And _, if we do somehow fail on the cliff, we'll find what we need through this woman's secret, which will have to be revealed in order for the Jones brothers to rescue her from the Echo Cave. That's what it does, it makes whoever enters reveal their darkest secret to escape."_

_Merlin wishes he had his notebook with him now, wishes he hadn't left it in his bag by his bunk, but he had no reason to believe he would need it this late at night. He hopes he will remember this by the time he returns to his bunk, once the sun has risen above the horizon once more — once they reach Neverland, by Pan's estimation._

_He has a sinking feeling that he needs to tell Killian and Liam, before it is too late, but he returns to his meditation for the night, preparing his mind to be in the right place when they do arrive at this mysterious new land._

_But every time he is near one of the Jones brothers the next day, the Prince or Pan is within earshot, and he doesn't find a chance to tell them any of this before they leave the ship and take off into the forests of Neverland._

Everyone is eerily quiet as they follow Pan's map towards the Echo Caves, each stuck deep in the depths of their own minds.

Killian is stuck on a certain part of the story, something Merlin wanted to leave out but found himself including only as the words left his mouth: Milah. Was Pan right about her? Did she have some dark secret, hidden from Killian in the deepest parts of her soul? He had loved her, that much is true; but he's found himself wondering a few times over the last twelve years if he would _still_ love her, after everything he has been through. She was fiercely devoted to Nephilysis, and believed strongly that Gold was the rightful king of all the land — would she have even still loved him once he was no longer loyal as she was? And if she _did_ have a secret, what was it? Would he have ever learned? What would his life have become if Liam wasn't killed at Dead Man's Peak? Would he have continued to live in his ignorant bliss, following a corrupt king and loving a woman possibly hiding something from him? 

Emma is deep in a similar train of thought, though hers is about her own darkest secret. Does she even _have_ a darkest secret? Especially one kept from Mary Margaret and David? She's told them everything about her life, from her orphaned roots to every time she's found herself afraid. 

_True love_ , Belle's voice whispers in the back of her mind. _Soulmates._

She pushes the thought back. There's no way _that's_ her darkest secret, as much as she thinks about keeping it from the rest of the group. Or maybe that's precisely why it's her secret, because she's so dead-set on keeping it from everyone else, especially from Killian. 

But would that really count? Mary Margaret already knows that. Belle and Regina do, too. 

She takes a deep breath and dares to glance at Killian, still lost in his own thoughts. She can tell he's upset by something, probably something about Merlin's recounting the Echo Caves, and she wishes she could make him feel better, wishes they weren't in such a fraught situation.

Wishes she wasn't starting to believe the feelings towards him that start to pop up every time she is near him. There has to be some sort of psychology behind it, knowing they're _soul mates_ or whatever, but she can't avoid the fact that she continually found herself drawn to him even before her trip to the Athenaeum. Maybe there's even a small part of her that wasn't surprised by the idea, that was maybe even content with it. 

She doesn't have time for that right now, though. They're on a mission to save his life, and there's no time for feelings to get involved. Still, she focuses on conjuring a small ball of warmth in her hand and wishes it in his direction, hoping she can give him some sort of relief from the pain he must be in. 

Even with Pan's crude drawings, it doesn't take them too long to reach the Echo Caves, just a few hours' walk through the woods before the entrance to the cave looms before them. 

Emma turns her attention back towards the map, wanting to make sure they're in the right place as much as she can with the crudely-drawn instructions, but what she sees makes all the warmth rush out of her body. 

_ONLY TWO MAY ENTER,_ the parchment says in large block letters where the map was before. 

Emma and Killian look at each other. Even without the map saying outright, they know they are the two that are supposed to enter, though Killian hates the idea of splitting the rest of their crew up. 

But it’s what they have to do. 

“I guess we’ll be staying here, then,” Will mutters, already dropping to sit against a tree right off the path. “I was a little intimidated by the cave, anyway.” 

Emma turns to Killian and watches the rise and fall of his shoulders as he takes a deep breath before raising her eyes to his. 

“Shall we?” he asks, ticking the corner of his mouth up in a momentary smile, but it disappears almost immediately. 

“I don’t think we have another option.” 

He looks over his shoulder, towards the rest of the group. “We’ll be back, I hope.” 

He probably doesn’t mean for it to sound as ominous as it does, but Emma still finds the words echoing through her mind as they enter the cave, lit only by the torch in Killian’s hand. _I hope, I hope, I hope_ ; and she _does_ find herself hoping, not only that they’ll defeat whatever they’re going to find in the cave, but that they’ll make it off of the island — all of them. 

It’s nothing like what Emma expected it to be, though she really wasn’t sure what to expect. It’s small, though, much smaller than the large, looming mouth makes it seem; she can see the opposite side, even with just the dim light from the torch Killian made for them. But with her attention focused on the cave around them, it’s not until Killian yanks her back by her hand that she realizes that most of it is a chasm, save a few feet of walking space around the edges. 

And a space in the middle, lit by two torches of its own, where David, Mary Margaret, Robin, and another woman are in a crudely-made bamboo cage — with no way to get to it. 

“Emma!” Mary Margaret says excitedly, jumping to her feet. “Killian!” 

“How did you find us?” David asks. 

"Pan left us a map," Killian says. "And Merlin just happened to know a bit about these caves from the last time we were here." 

"Does he happen to know how to get us out of here?" Robin says. 

"Secrets," Emma mumbles, forgetting that her friends are well out of earshot.

So Killian takes over. "It's another of Pan's tricks. I don't know how, but we can only save you by revealing our secrets." 

"Each secret will build part of a walkway," the other woman in the cage with them says, though she is still facing away from all of them. "It's only once we've revealed all of our secrets that we'll be able to escape. He hopes that it will build a rift in your party, make you angry at each other." 

"And who are you?" Emma asks. By what she can see of Mary Margaret's face, she thinks it's the first time the woman has spoken since they found themselves in the Echo Cave. 

But it's not the woman that answers; it's Killian, though his whispered gasp is only loud enough for Emma to hear. " _Milah_." 

Of _course_ it's his long lost love, the woman that he left behind when he was forced to walk the plank twelve years ago. The woman whose secret Pan had planned to use during Killian's first trip to Neverland — and whose secret is going to be told now. 

She pulls herself to her feet using the cage, then turns towards the rest of them. Her hair is wild, dark and untamable in every direction, and her brown pants and white tunic are covered by a light blue cape-like jacket. 

"I'll show you how it works. My name is Milah Gold, the first wife of King Gold the Fifth, and mother of Prince Baelfire." 

Killian feels the breath escape from his lungs as if he's just been punched in the stomach. He wants to fall to his knees, wants to act out of the anger — the sadness — the absolute _rage_ coursing through his veins — but instead, he is pulled away from his own emotions when David speaks. 

"Why shouldn't I kill you right here?" David asks, more scared than anything else. "Do you know who I am?" 

"Of course I know, Prince David of the Gale. But I can assure you, I do not mean to do you or your friends any harm."

"Why should we trust you?"

But Killian is the one to answer this question: "Because I loved her, once, long ago. If she says she's not here to harm us, I trust her." 

"What if it's another of Pan's tricks?" 

Robin's question is a valid one. "Explain yourself, Milah," Killian demands between clenched teeth, allowing some of his anger to come to fruition. 

"Once Baelfire was a few years old, the King asked me to leave his court, gifting me with an enchantment to slow my aging, the same that he uses for himself and my son, and I suppose the same one that this whole island is enchanted with. I was working as an innkeeper when you and your brother came to town, if you'll remember, Killian. All my feelings towards you were true. The only thing I didn't tell you was the truth about who I was." 

Killian doesn't know what to do, what to even _think_ , but before he can wrap his head around what has just been revealed, he is thrown off-balance by the entire cave seeming to shake, grumbling like an old machine, until a few feet of a narrow stone path appear in front of where he and Emma are standing. 

Once the cave silences again, Mary Margaret clears her throat. "I'd like to go next." Her voice is soft, but clear, and carries even to where Killian and Emma are standing. "I'm pregnant." 

"I already knew that," David says, trying to hide the wide smile taking over his features. "Does that count as a secret?" 

_I hope so_ , Emma thinks, her mind on her own secret. 

"That's… that's not it." She reaches down to take David's hand, squeezing her eyes shut as she wraps her fingers around his. "I'm pregnant, but I — I don't want to be." Emma can't see her face, hidden by the shadows of the cave and her other hand when she runs it down her features. "I want to have a baby with you, David, I _do_ , but I don't — I don't know if I can bring a child into this world when it is so full of pain and suffering and chaos."

She stands silently for a moment, her head still hanging, and even as the cave roars back to life around them, she doesn’t move, weighed down by the guilt of her secret. 

“Are we allowed to have the same secret?” David asks, barely audible over the groaning of the cave around them. “I too was weary of bringing a child into this world, but I didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t know — I don’t know if I even want to have children, if this is the world they are born in to.” 

For a moment, the cave is silent, and David is worried that his secret is not good enough — but it’s all he has. The dripping from the stalactites echoes in all of their ears, the only noise present for a moment. 

And then the cave groans to life once more, the walkway before Killian and Emma now reaching about halfway to the middle where the cage sits. 

Robin stands up, brushing the dirt off the front of his shirt, and turns to David. “Your father killed my wife and my son, and I’ve never forgiven him for it. I was there when he ordered the strike to my village, because he thought Gold had a secret base there, but his intel was baseless. I’d lived there my whole life, and sitting in his meeting that day was the first I’d heard anything like that. I’ve never forgiven him, and I blame you for it sometimes, too.” 

David nods, full of understanding, as the cave comes to life once more. Robin sighs, then breathes out a laugh. “It actually feels really good to get that off my chest.” 

Killian clears his throat, turning towards Emma. “I suppose that only leaves us, then, love,” he says with another momentary flash of a smile. She opens her mouth to speak, but he reaches out and takes her hand, effectively silencing her. “I’d like to go first, if I may.” She just nods, watching his gaze fall to the ground as he takes a deep breath. “Since the last time I was here, I’ve wished for death many times. As thankful as I was for David appearing and pulling me from the water, I had come to terms with dying that day, and have done the same many times, even as a part of David’s team. There were times when I thought about disappearing, walking into the forest and never returning. When Pan had me, I thought that was it, but no matter how many times I told myself I wasn’t going to wake in the morning, my body kept fighting to stay alive, even in times when my mind didn’t want to do the same. I always figured there was a reason for it, a reason the universe wanted me to stay alive, and I think it’s the same reason something led me towards your hospital after I had escaped from Pan and Baelfire. I think — I think it’s _you_ , Emma. I’ve been thinking it for a while, but I wasn’t going to say anything about it until I was sure that I would make it off this godforsaken island alive, until I knew that there was a chance we could even _have_ a future together. I never thought I would find happiness again after I lost Milah, and I certainly never thought I would discover a new reason for living, but… that’s it, Emma. That’s my secret.” 

Everything in her is begging her to _run_ , her heart pounding so loudly in her ears that she barely even notices another rumble from the cave. It’s only then, hearing Killian tell her that he has feelings for her, that she realizes what her secret is. 

“Of course you feel that way, Killian,” she says, pulling her hand away from his and watching as all the light in his eyes fades in that single moment. “You _have_ to feel that way. There’s some prophecy about us, written who-knows-how-many years ago, that says we’re _destined_ to be together, if you believe something like that.” 

“You don’t?” he whispers.

She shakes her head, taking a small step away from him. “No. The universe can’t tell me how I have to feel. _True love_ and _soul mates_ and everything we supposedly are? That’s all bullshit.” 

The cave groans again, the rest of the walkway forming before them, but no one speaks, no one dares even move. 

“Let’s rescue our friends and get the hell out of here,” she says, turning away from him and moving down the walkway. 

The silence of the cave is deafening as Emma makes her way down the walkway, pulling out the dagger on her hip only to find the cage already unlocked.

Silence. Silence from everyone, trying to wrap their heads around everything that’s been revealed — except Emma, who can only think about how much she wants to get off of this damned island. Taking up the rear, though, she is the last person to notice that there is no one waiting for them outside of the cave. 

The rest of their party has disappeared, and the only sign of them is another crudely-drawn map nailed to the tree that Will Scarlett was leaning against when Killian and Emma entered the Echo Caves. 


	12. INTO THE DEEP, DARK THICK OF IT

David pulls the map from the tree, holding it between his hands, and the rest of them crowd around him to look over his shoulder at it — except Emma, who keeps her distance. She doesn’t know if it’s from what happened in the Echo Caves or from finding half of their crew taken again, but she feels sick to her stomach, and taking slow, deep breaths is less than helpful in the thick, humid air of the Neverland forests. 

But she is still close enough to hear their conversation: 

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, Killian, but isn't that—" David says, only to be cut off prematurely by Killian. 

"The Dark Jungle? Aye."

Mary Margaret tries next: "And that's where you told us—" 

"Never to go? Uh-huh," he says bluntly. 

"But this map is leading us—” Robin tries, but this time, David cuts him off. 

"Directly into the middle of it." 

“And we’re walking right into his trap?” Mary Margaret asks. 

“I don’t really see another option, do you?” David asks, and Emma turns to them just in time to see Mary Margaret reach out and take David’s hand, sharing a small but obviously love-filled glance with him. Though she has seen it many times before, has been watching her two best friends share displays of affection for years now, this simple gesture makes her stomach turn again. 

She didn’t know she was such a cynic. Sure, she’s been having sinking feelings about the validity of true love and things like that, but she never once imagined actually saying those things out loud.

To Killian. To a dying man who pretty much confessed his love to her. 

But she did. She didn’t even know she felt that strongly about it until she was already spewing her secret in the Cave, but once the words were out, there was no way of taking them back. Maybe that was Pan’s plan all along, to cause a rift between just her and Killian, because it doesn’t seem to her like anyone else was as affected by the Echo Caves as they were. 

Milah clears her throat, and they all seem to remember simultaneously that she is there. As the rest of the group turns towards her, Emma focuses on Killian, watching his face change as he looks at her. A rollercoaster of emotions crosses his face, his features softening before hardening again, as if remembering everything she told them in the Caves. “I’ve spent a lot of time on this island, and have learned some of the ways around. This map is sending you right through Pan’s camp, where all of his henchmen stay. It’s almost definitely a trap.” 

With that, his features soften again. “How long have you been here?” 

“Not long after Liam was killed and I thought they killed you. Pan offered me a life away from the War, and since that was all I ever wanted, I accepted before realizing it was a trap to keep me here.” 

“That’s twelve years, Milah,” he whispers, and something in the way he says her name makes Emma’s heart stop — or so it feels like. Every inch of her is weighed down by it, by the incredible familiarity that every inch of him exudes. Milah hurt him so much, Emma could tell by his response to her in the Cave. She hurt him, yet he still seems to have feelings for her. 

That’s what she wants, she realizes, standing there taking it all in. She knows she crossed a line, completely disregarded Killian’s feelings, and she wants to be forgiven. She wants to go back to how it was before they went into the damned Cave, before Pan pitted them against each other. 

She only hopes it’s not too late. 

“And how do we know that whatever way you take us isn’t also going to be a trap?” David asks, and Emma is glad that someone else feels a little leery trusting the woman who just revealed herself to be the mother of Prince Baelfire. 

“I have no way of proving my allegiance to you,” she says. “Only that I have spent my time here — twelve years, if Killian is right, though it only feels like a few months — as Pan’s prisoner, and though time may flow differently here than in the regular places of the world, I have grown to hate him more with each day I have spent here. If I could do anything to get off this island, I will, but if defeating him is something that could happen in the process of that, I'll do whatever I can to help.” 

David turns to Killian, who just shrugs. “What do you suggest we do?” 

“It’s a bit of a more treacherous path, to be honest, but doesn’t cut through Pan’s camp. Hopefully we’ll run into less Lost Boys that way.” 

“Lost Boys?” Mary Margaret asks. 

Milah nods. “That’s what they call themselves. Or what Pan calls them, I’m not sure who started it. I’ve always felt that they were trapped on this island like I am, but I have no way of proving it. All the ones I’ve been able to talk to seem pretty content to be here.” 

They stay silent for a moment, shifting their packs on their backs, until finally, Killian says, “Well, let’s go, we’re wasting daylight,” before gesturing for Milah to take the lead and following behind her. 

Robin and Mary Margaret take off after them, but Emma pulls David back, keeping a few steps behind them all and out of earshot. 

“Do you really trust this woman?” 

“No,” he says, keeping his gaze on the woods in front of them. “But the way I see it, I don’t really have another choice, do I?” 

Emma shrugs. “I just… have a bad feeling about all of this,” she says, pulling down her ponytail to put it back up and keep the flyaways out of her face as best she can. She's never been to a place as humid as Neverland, and while she was never one to give much care to the state of her hair, she has been finding it much harder to deal with over the last few days. 

“So do I,” he says. “I’ve had a bad feeling about all of this, since that first day when you called me from the hospital. But if listening to this woman — to Prince Baelfire’s mother — is the best chance we have for saving Killian’s life, then who am I to fight it?” 

“You do have a pretty good track record for trusting those you probably shouldn’t,” she jokes, knocking her shoulder into his. 

He chuckles. “That I do.”

_"And who do we have here?" King George leers, glaring down at her from his throne. For the first time since he sat down beside his father earlier that morning, David feels pulled to look up._

_He had no idea what to expect, but a girl no more than twelve or thirteen, kneeling on the marble-tiled floor between two armor-clad guards, is certainly not it, though that's what he finds. Though each of their hands extend far past the end of the girl's shoulders, they seem to be pushing her into the ground much harder than David feels is necessary._

_She says nothing, only spits on the floor in front of her. He doesn't blame her, really; just by the looks of her, he can tell that her life has been nothing like his own, that she has spent most of her life living on the streets._

_The streets of his kingdom. Or, what will be his kingdom one day. He’s thought about the people who are lesser off than he is, thought about those who don’t live the kind of privileged life that’s been handed to him — but, somehow, these thoughts have never included the idea that people his age could be living on the streets._

_Right here, with this girl right in front of him, it hits him a little too hard in the face. A tremor quakes through his body._

_“Tell me your name, girl,” his father demands, but all she does is glare at him — at them, together on the throne._

_“We found her in the royal gardens, your majesty. Trying to steal food,” one of the guards says, his gloved hand flexing against her shoulder as it keeps her on her knees._

_“Stealing from me, eh? Do you know what the punishment for that is?”_

_“Father, you can’t,” David says, surprising himself more than anyone else._

_This time, King George’s glare is directed at him. “Excuse me?”_

_David clears his throat, gulps, trying to hide his embarrassment, his nervousness. “The least you could do is cut her a break. She doesn’t deserve to go to the dungeon.”_

_“She stole from me, David. From us, from the royal garden. The penalty is a night in the dungeon, no matter who you are.”_

_“Just look at her.”_

_King George turns away from his son to look back at the girl kneeling on the floor in front of them. For a moment, he is silent, his arms crossed over his chest, before turning back to David. “Okay, fine. What would you do, son?”_

_David sits up a little straighter, running his fingers through his hair, if only to try to get ahold of himself. “The first thing I would do would be to offer her a meal.” Though King George’s eyes are on David, the prince is watching the young girl, who looks up at him when he says this. “She’s obviously hungry, or she wouldn’t be stealing from the royal gardens. Gods know we have more than enough food.”_

_King George nods, looking back at the girl for a moment. “And then?”_

_“Why take any more action? There was no malicious intent. It’s our job to take care of our people, not throw the hungry ones in prison.”_

_King George smiles at his son, and for a moment, he feels hope. Maybe, just maybe, his father will see the truth in what he is saying, will be fair for the first time in his life._

_But then he stands up, wiping his hands on his black dress pants. “And that’s why you’re not king yet.” He turns to the guards. “Take her to the dungeons. And give her a piece of bread or something, I suppose.”_

_Before David can say a word, King George turns on his heel and walks out of the throne room. As the girl is hauled back to her feet, David tries his best to give her a look filled with sympathy, but he has no idea if she took it that way._

_One day, he’s going to be a benevolent king. One day, none of his people will go hungry, and they will certainly not be sent to the dungeons just for trying to get a bite to eat. For now, though, maybe all he can do is be nice to this one, single young woman. It really is the least he can do._

_He waits until he is no longer under the watchful supervision of his father, until he has finished the rest of his duties for the day, but then he makes his way down to the kitchens._

_“Hey, Granny,” he says, knocking on the door to the kitchen, though it already stands open. He knows the woman has another name, must have been told of it at some point, but everyone just calls her Granny — except his father, who refers to her only as “the cook,” even to her face. In reality, though, she is much more than that. Though she does not technically run their household, she does most of the work related to it, from running the kitchens to making sure the maids and servants do their jobs as they should. David knows the household would fall apart without her, and therefore always offers her a smile when he finds himself down in the kitchens, or when he runs into her in other parts of the palace._

_“Good evening, your highness,” she says, turning her attention to him for only a moment before turning her attention back to the pot in front of her on the stove. As always, she is stoic, unsmiling, but he has learned that is just how she is, and not to take offense of it, even when the rest of their staff always manage a smile in his direction — and a fake one when his father is around._

_It’s no secret that the household staff prefer the prince over his father. Sometimes they even whisper amongst themselves about how someone as rude as King George could have raised a son like David, who has grown into a polite and understanding young man._

_“What brings you down here this evening?”_

_“My father threw a young woman in the dungeons earlier for stealing from the palace gardens, and I would like to make sure she gets a nice, hot meal.”_

_This pulls one of the very rare smiles across Granny’s face as she puts down her spoon and wipes her hands on her apron. “Gods bless you, sire.”_

_“It really is the least I could do,” he says, leaning back against the doorway, his eyes watching the old woman puttering around the room but the rest of him unmoving. “I tried to talk my father into letting her go — all she wanted was a meal — but he threw her in the dungeons nonetheless.”_

_“I was a little girl when your grandfather was king,” she says, adding a few pieces of bread to the tray. “And have lived most of my life in this palace, seeing firsthand how the citizens of the Gale have been treated.” When she turns to look at the prince, his eyes have fallen to the floor, so she takes the tray in her hands and stands before him with it, waiting for him to look up at her. “I’ve been waiting for a ruler like you my whole life, your highness. I only hope that I shall live to see you take your father’s place on the throne.”_

_He smiles at the woman, taking the tray of food out of her hands. “The rumor around here is that you’re never going to die,” he says with a wink, then turns and leaves the kitchen, another small smile spreading across the old woman’s face as she shakes her head._

_He’s happy to see that the guards placed her in the first cell, the one that gets the most light during the day through the old iron gate at the top of the stairs. She is sitting alone in the corner, as far from the door as she can get, and her eyes follow him in what’s left of the light as he walks the few paces down the hallway to reach the door of her cell._

_Neither of them speak, even as he sets the tray of food down on the ground and pushes it through the slot at the bottom of the cell. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, running his index finger along one of the cold iron bars, but then he sits down on the floor, his back against the bars, facing away from her. He wasn’t planning on staying, certainly wasn’t planning on making conversation with her, but there are words coming from his mouth before he can stop them. “My father is an unjust ruler, but there’s not much I can do about it for now. All I can do is go behind his back and try to be the kind of king I want to be someday when he’s not looking. Today was the first time he even asked for my opinion on something, but certainly not the first time I’ve spoken out to him about it, though you saw how he responded to it.” He doesn’t dare to turn his head towards her, but out of the corner of his eye, he notices that she’s slowly moving towards the tray of food, taking the sandwich off the tray. “I’m sorry for the way my father treated you today. I would really — I would like to help you, if you’ll let me.”_

_Her voice is soft, but still the fact that she speaks startles David a bit. “You have helped me already.”_

_David smiles, fully turning to her and happy to see she has accepted the food he brought as she takes a bite of the sandwich. “I mean once you’re out from behind these bars.”_

_“What do you think you could do for me?” There is spite in her voice again, spite that must come from years of being on her own and learning not to trust anyone, David realizes, but does not want to push her to the point where she thinks he is overdoing it._

_He turns away from her again, hoping to keep her trust. “If you’ll allow me — and if you would like — I can try to get you a job working for someone at the palace. I could at least promise you a meal or two a day, though I may also be able to find you a place to stay, depending on what you would be willing to do.”_

_For a while, she is silent, slowly eating the sandwich before she begins picking at the pile of grapes. “What would I have to do to have a place to stay?” Her voice is small, showing David a side of her that he doesn’t think very many people get to see, a vulnerability that he can tell she has learned to hide under a thick skin._

_“Have you discovered any powers yet?” He’s not sure how old she is, if he has become of age for her abilities to begin to show themselves._

_“No, not — not yet.”_

_“And what about your parents? Did they have powers?”_

_“I… never knew my parents. I was left on the steps of one of the temples when I was just a few days old.”_

_He’s quiet for another few moments, thinking about it all. “I think the palace healers are searching for an apprentice, actually. I’ll go check with them this evening and come back in the morning to free you and see what I’ve come up with.”_

_He stands to leave, not expecting anything else from her, so when he hears a very quiet “thank you” come from behind him, he can’t stop himself from turning back towards her, though he has nothing to say._

_“Why did you help me?” she asks, and he backtracks the three steps he’s taken away from her cell._

_“I would like to be the kind of leader who helps as many people as I can, and it’s never too early to start.”_

_“You’re a good man, your highness.”_

_“David. Please, just call me David.” He wants to ask the question that’s sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he’s also afraid to; he knows that sometimes orphans are left without a name, but he feels a deep calling to befriend this small, blonde girl currently sitting in his father’s dungeons. So he asks it anyway: “Would you like to tell me your name?”_

_They share a smile. In this moment, Emma decides on a surname for the first time in her life. “Emma. Emma Swan. And thank you… David.”_

“Can we stop for a minute?” Mary Margaret asks, leaning against a tree right off the path. “Please?” 

None of them refuse. Killian even looks a little relieved, though he tries to hide his face from them as he digs through his pack, searching for snacks. Most of them dive straight into their supplies, searching for something, since Emma hasn’t yet honed the ability to conjure food like Belle and Merlin have — though, thankfully, most of them still have a fair amount of the food they packed in the first place because of the powers of their more magic-inclined friends. 

Water, however, she is more than able to conjure, filling everyone’s canteens and bottles as they pass them to her — even with Milah insisting that the water on the island is more than safe. 

"We don't want to take any unnecessary chances," David explains, handing Mary Margaret her bottle back. "Especially since we are no longer following the map Pan gave us. Who knows what kind of tricks he still has for us."

Killian, though he doesn’t seem to be listening to their conversation, has pulled the map out of his back pocket and has spread it across his legs, his attention on it instead the rest of the group. But his mind is very, very far away, the same place it has been for the last few hours, save when he has needed to point out something along the trail. 

He's torn. Torn between the choices lying before him, and torn apart by everything that has been thrown at him recently. He never imagined he would see Milah again, especially never imagined that he would have to choose between two women with Milah being one of them. Part of him — most of him, if he’s honest with himself — doesn’t know if he can even trust her, knowing what he learned in the Cave. The mother of the man that has become his enemy, the man who killed his brother and tortured him. 

And then there’s Emma. Days ago, even hours ago, he thought he was in love with her. His only question was whether or not he was going to make it off this island, whether he would have the chance to spend some of his life beside her. 

But now he knows their connection is fake — or, Emma believes it’s fake. Killian realizes, looking across the path to where she is sitting against a tree, her eyes shut, that, to him, it doesn’t even matter. Magic or not, prophecy or not, he’s in love with her.

Turning to Milah, he finds himself surprised by his lack of feeling for her, even as she smiles warmly at him. A smile that he has missed so much over the last twelve years, a smile he never thought he would see again. Still, he feels nothing. Not even hatred, not anger — just… nothing. 

Well, there’s his decision then. He’s not sure that he will ever get past Emma’s disdain towards their connection, but he at least knows that she is the one he chooses. 

If he makes it off this island. 

A twig snaps behind David, bringing up the rear of the group, and he cannot quite move fast enough to simultaneously whip around and pull his pistol from the waistband of his jeans, calling for Emma's attention. At the last moment, he watches as the young boy that has appeared behind him knocks an arrow on his obviously-homemade bow, and he readies himself for the impact of the crude arrow into his flesh, his finger unable to pull the trigger with an enemy who looks so young. 

But the impact never comes. When he opens his eyes, Emma is standing in front of him, her hands out before her — and the hazy waves emitting from them are holding the arrow, mid-flight, in the air between them. 

Suddenly, a battle cry sounds in the forest around them, other young boys armed with spears and arrows (and David even thinks he sees a slingshot) appear from behind the trees. 

Their group stands unmoving, though their weapons are drawn, as the boys start to move around them, none of them able to bring themselves to fire their weapons at an enemy that looks so much like young boys. 

"They're enchanted, I told you this!" Milah cries, the only one of them unarmed, and she tries to cower behind Robin, who is having none of it. "They look like boys, but they're not!" 

Another one, this one significantly taller and older-looking, pushes through the trees, the smile on his face somehow calling attention to the large scar that runs down his cheek. "And I can assure you that nothing will hold us back from killing you." 

This is apparently the push Robin needs to act, and he releases an arrow at one of the closest of Pan's followers, catching the arm of his jacket and pinning it against the tree. He and Mary Margaret continue with this approach, successfully taking four of the boys out of battle, but it's almost as if they're immediately replaced with four more. 

And each of them are looking towards the tall boy with the scar for their orders. 

When Emma realizes this, she focuses all of her energy on him, though it takes all of the concentration she has to try to hold him still, her powers in battle still very new to her. 

They're still afraid to act, even as the boys begin loosing arrows in their direction. When Emma realizes that freezing their leader isn't helping, she releases him, trying to find somewhere better to focus her powers — and she finds it in a protective barrier around them, stopping many of the boys' arrows. 

But not all of them. Just as Emma begins to feel more confident in her abilities, she senses something came through anyway, and it almost breaks her concentration to turn her head for a moment in the direction she thought she felt it. 

She wishes she hadn't, though, because all she finds is Robin laying on the ground, the twig-end of one of the boy's crude arrows sticking out of the flesh of his thigh. 

"I can help!" she says, but the rest of the group seems to shout No! at the same time, and Milah kneels beside him. 

“Can’t you do something… more?” David asks, and Emma rolls her eyes. 

“I’m doing the best I can here.” 

“You’re doing great, love,” Killian mutters from beside her, bumping his shoulder into hers, then fires a shot at one of the boys, the first shot fired from any of their pistols. It just hits the side of the boy's leg, and he falls to the ground gripping it — but the rest of the boy's stop in their tracks, eyes wide and directed at Killian. 

Silence has fallen around them. 

"What is that?" the oldest of them, the one with the scar, asks, staring at the pistol in Killian's hand. 

It never occurred to them that the Lost Boys haven't seen newer, updated weapons. It never occurred to most of them that Pan would have boys on the island who can't age, who have been stuck here for gods know how long. 

"It's a pistol, you dunce," another of them says, aiming his bow once more — 

— and, somehow, Emma is overcome by a surge of power, emitted from her hands in a blinding flash of white light, sending all of the Lost Boys flying backwards and knocking many of them unconscious. 

"Bloody brilliant, love," Killian mumbles, knocking against her shoulder again as he returns his pistol to the holster. 

Emma whips around, first towards Robin before realizing that David has also come out of the battle wounded. 

"Alright," she says, helping David sit against a tree, her hand pressed against the scrape on the side of his ribs. "Am I allowed to help now?" 

She tries to smile at David, but it doesn't really take — and David certainly doesn't return it. 

Because when she lifts his shirt, the gash on his ribs has already started turning black. She glances over her shoulder, searching for him, but she knows he is seeing the same that she is. 

"Dreamshade," Killian mumbles, kneeling beside her on the ground. "What bloody luck." 


	13. MAKING CAMP

Emma wishes she could just sleep. Not even to gain back some of her energy, but to try to maybe gain some control over the situation. 

(And maybe, somewhere deep down, she hopes that she will meet Liam Jones and the mysterious blonde on the other side of consciousness again, that they will lead her towards where her friends are being kept once more.) 

Suddenly, a thought pops into her mind, one that she kicks herself for not thinking before:  _ were they even real?  _ What if they were a vision somehow sent by Pan? Obviously he wants to lead them around the island, wasting precious time in answering his damned riddles instead of saving Killian. 

That makes the most sense, really. Much more sense than Killian’s dead brother and some mysterious blonde woman that she’s never seen before visiting her in her dreams to help her find her friends. 

It  _ has _ to be Pan. It’s the only reasonable explanation, she realizes. Why did none of them see that before? For part of a moment, she is thankful that they have been separated from the few of the group that she told about the dream. How did none of them call her out? It's obvious now, really.

_ What if _ … what if they all thought it was a trick and just let her think what she wanted about it? 

At the same time… why would Pan have tricked her with two people she's never met before? If he wanted to use the ghost of Liam Jones to trick anyone, Killian would certainly be the easiest target. 

She turns around to where he has settled in at the end of their group, his hand in his jacket pocket and his eyebrows forming a deep  _ v  _ across his forehead, his eyes looking no further than the ground directly in front of him. Suddenly, she feels the need to tell him about it all — about the dream and the prophecy and how all she's wanted to do since the first time she saw him on the floor of her office was comfort him and heal him.  _ Everything _ . Everything she left out in the Echo Caves, everything she's been pushing deeper and deeper within herself as she tries to ignore the way she feels about him. 

And then, just like that, her fear creeps back up, a shiver up her spine that settles over the rest of her body as she turns her attention back to the forest. Because what if none of her feelings are real? What if everything she has felt since that first day has been because of some  _ destiny  _ that she doesn't even believe in? How  _ insane  _ is it to believe in  _ true love  _ anyway? 

"I think I need to stop again," Mary Margaret mutters to David, though loud enough for Emma to hear. "Just for — for like a minute or two." Her voice is weak, and it seems to Emma like she is having trouble catching her breath. Hopefully due to the slight incline of their current path and not any other complication, but since her revelation in the Echo Caves, they all know that they can't be too careful — Neverland is perilous enough as it is, and it just becomes worse when you factor in the added possible health risks for a pregnant woman. A pregnant woman carrying the child of their foe's greatest enemy.

Robin wipes the debris off a nearby stump as David hands her his canteen of water. They sit in silence, each leaning against a tree or simply resting on the ground — except Milah, who seems to be foraging just beyond the path. She returns back to the group with a handful of plump dark purple berries, which she offers first to David and Mary Margaret. 

"This particular plant is known to bring strength to whoever eats it." 

"And why should we trust you?" David asks, a harsh bite to his voice that he hasn't been able to get rid of since he learned her identity. 

"Please, let me assure you once more, your highness, my goal here is not to harm any of you. I was a prisoner of Pan's for a very long time, but I spent much of it learning to survive on my own on this island. If you are able to finally defeat him and return home, it means there is a chance I may be able to do the same." 

Still, David shakes his head at her, his distrust evident on his face; Mary Margaret follows suit, even though Emma can tell she wants to extend a bit of trust with their newest companion, but there is more at stake here than just friendship and hurt feelings. 

Emma does what Mary Margaret does not when Milah turns the offer to her, plucking just a few of the berries from her palm. Her heart is pounding, hoping that the kindness she knows her friend wishes to show does not prove harmful while trying to push the thought that Milah has been deceiving them to the back of her mind. 

It calms her a bit when Robin also accepts a few of the berries with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, tossing the whole handful into his mouth in one motion while offering Milah a smile. 

The last thing Emma expects Killian to do, though, is not only deny the offer, but turn his back on her completely, mumbling something about  _ "not knowing how to trust anymore"  _ before taking a few steps away from where they have gathered. 

The rest of their day follows just like this, Mary Margaret asking to stop around every hour and the rest of them doing their best to forage and provide for each other. Not long before nightfall, Robin spots a few rabbits close enough to kill for dinner, and working together with Mary Margaret, they get three of them, which they are able to turn into a bit of a stew, with some plants added by Milah. 

But they are still quiet, barely speaking to each other, each of them lost deep within the confines of their own minds. 

Emma's has spent the day oscillating between a deep desire to bare her heart to Killian and tell him everything she's been keeping back, and trying not to feel too hopeful about their current mission. They all know that they are in a time crunch, that Killian's days are numbered — and that the number isn't very large. Plus, Pan keeps sending them away from their planned path, keeping them from reaching the healing waters of Dead Man's Peak, a journey now made even more perilous by Mary Margaret's pregnancy and the black scar running across David's ribcage, which Emma has been keeping a very close watch on. She's done the best she can, but she fears it is not enough, though it has barely changed since he got it, the black tendrils growing no longer. 

The rest of the night is just as silent, barely anyone speaking over the crackling of the fire. For the first time since arriving on the island (and even though half of their friends are still missing), there's a sense of calm in the camp. Sleep comes easily under the ever-bright moon that hangs in the sky. 

To all but Mary Margaret. She's been unable to find even a moment of mental rest since what was shared in the Echo Caves, and now with David wounded and poisoned with the same poison that brought them to this island in the first place, it is so much worse. 

So, instead of laying, restless, on the cold forest floor, she is up, walking around. She knows not to stray too far from camp, has tied a string to the tree David is sleeping under to assure that she can make it back to camp. For a while, she just wanders back and forth under the light of the moon, trying to calm her racing thoughts, her pounding heart — all stressors the baby she is carrying doesn’t need.

She can’t be very far away from their camp when she hears the crying, carried through the trees on the breeze. She follows the sound, a few hundred yards through the forest, and finds cages, much like the one she, David, and Robin were held in in the Echo Caves, hanging just overhead. 

Amazed, she moves towards the cages, not even realizing that the string has fallen from her hand. 

"Mary Margaret!" Belle yells from one of the cages, and she realizes that she's found all of their friends — and one extra cage, she discovers, counting them twice just to make sure. 

"Who else is here?" 

"We haven't been able to figure it out," Merlin says. 

"Every time we ask her a question, she's either silent or just starts crying again." 

"I'm gonna… go back to camp and get the rest of them," Mary Margaret says, but when she turns around, the string is nowhere to be found. 

She has two choices: try to find her way back to camp, though she could get lost in the forest, or stay here with her friends and hope that the others find the string and go searching for her. 

_ "Tell us another story, please, Wendy?" Michael cries, scooting closer to his sister on the bed.  _

_ "No, no, Michael," she coos, laughing as she places her hand on his head and running her fingers softly through his strawberry-blond hair. "It's time for us to go to bed."  _

_ "But I don't want to go to bed," John whines, climbing from his bed into his big sister's.  _

_ "Now John, Michael," Wendy says, a touch of motherly sternness in her voice — a tone that had been growing more necessary over the last few weeks, as the boys became more difficult to discipline. _

_ Wendy couldn't figure out what had changed. Things that the boys have always done suddenly angered her, or at least tested her patience with them. Had they always been so terrible at cleaning up after themselves? John was only three years younger than Wendy, yet some of his mannerisms had really begun to bother her. _

_ Her mother had suggested that perhaps she was becoming more mature — she  _ had _ just turned twelve a few weeks before — but Wendy refused to believe it.  _ Growing up? _ That was the very last thing she wanted. She loved being a child, playing with her toys and playing with her brothers, taking naps (even if she snuck a book under her pillow and read when her mother thought she was asleep.) And, perhaps most of all, staying in the nursery with her brothers. As of late, her father had mentioned — threatened, more like — that she should move to her own room soon, but the tears she forced to fall down her cheeks every time he brought it up had been enough to change his mind. _

_ "I want to hear another story about the pirates!" Michael says, jumping out of bed to pull his wooden sword out of the barrel of toys in the corner. _

_ This, of course, makes John jump from the bed, as well, his feet landing on the worn wooden floor with a loud  _ thump.

_ Then a loud gasp from Wendy. _

_ "Quick!" She hopes the boys understand, especially when the sound of their father's footsteps comes from outside their door. "Get in your beds!" _

_ John does as she says, leaping into his bed and under the covers, resting his head on his pillow just as their door opens — but Michael is still play-fencing with his wooden sword. _

_ "Children!" Mr. Darling's voice booms from the doorway, harsh light from the hallway creating a silhouette of his large body on the floor. "Wendy, I told you it was time for everyone to go to bed!" _

_ "Yes, father," she says softly, curling her legs up beneath her under her quilt. "Michael was just getting back into his bed."  _

_ "We just finished story time," John says, pulling off his thin-framed eyeglasses and setting them on his bedside table. _

_ But Michael, only four and not quite learned enough to pick up on his siblings' nuances, continues to swing his sword. "No!" he yells, hitting one of the wooden posts of his bed. "Wendy is going to tell us another story! One about pirates!" _

_ "No, Michael," Wendy says, that harsh tone back in her voice." I told you it was time for bed." _

_ " _ Please _ , Wendy!" he cries, climbing into her bed and nestling up against her.  _

_ At this, though, Wendy smiles. "Alright, alright, just one more, but then—"  _

_ "No!" Mr. Darling yells, crossing his arms over his chest as he pounds his foot into the ground. "What did I just say?" he bellows, just as his wife joins him in the doorway.  _

_ "George," she says softly, setting her perfectly-manicured hand gently on her husband's arm.  _

_ "No, Mary! Wendy must learn to follow the rules! Earlier this week, there was the incident with the cufflinks and now she is deliberately disobeying me. It's time for her to grow up."  _

_ "Father, please!" Wendy cries, but Mr. Darling just shakes his head.  _

_ "This has been more than enough."  _

_ "George…" _

_ "No! No, no, I have decided. Tonight will be Wendy's last night in the nursery. Tomorrow, she moves into her own room."  _

_ "Father!" she gasps, and the boys bolt upright with gasps of their own.  _

_ "George, we should talk about this."  _

_ "No, Mary. She is old enough now for her own room. We should have done it weeks ago, you know that."  _

_ "Father, no!" John cries, tears already starting to well in his eyes.  _

_ "I'll not hear another word on this! Tomorrow, Wendy moves out of the nursery!" _

_ "No," she breathes, but her father is already gone. Her mother stays behind for another moment, a sad look on her beautiful face, and then she turns away, too, softly closing the nursery door behind her.  _

_ It only takes a moment for John and Michael to be back in her bed, cuddled up next to her. For a while, their soft sobs are the only noise that comes from them, until Michael wipes his nose on his nightshirt and turns his red eyes up to Wendy, _

_ "Do you think..." he whispers. "Do you think we could have another story now? Since it's your last night here?" _

_ She wraps her arm around his small shoulders. "I'm still going to be able to tell you stories before bedtime."  _

_ His eyes go wide. "Really? You promise?"  _

_ "Of course, I'm still your sister, even if I'm sleeping in another room." _

_ "Oh, Wendy!" He nuzzles into her shoulder again. "I wish you never had to grow up!" _

_ "So do I, Michael, but I'm afraid that's impossible." _

_ "Can you still tell us one of the stories about the pirates?" John asks. _

_ But Wendy's eyes go wide with excitement. "I have something even better than that." _

_ It's a story from one of her library books, the most exciting adventure story she's ever read. Perfect for her last night as a child. It's the story of Neverland, a far away place where children go when they don't want to grow up. _

_ "All you have to do is wish, wish with your whole heart that you could stay a child forever, think of all the wonderful things about childhood, and if you really mean it, if you really want it more than anything in the world, then you will wake up there, free to be a child forever." _

_ Both John and Michael are filled with excitement, practically humming with it — but Wendy still sends them both back to their own beds, turning off the lamp behind her bed so the only light in the room comes from the soft night light under the window, plus the brightness of the full moon shining through the curtains. _

_ The boys fall asleep quickly, even after all the excitement of Wendy's story about Neverland. But for Wendy, it is much more difficult. Even when she closes her eyes, she can only think of the big, empty bedroom down the hall, the room that she knew had to become hers soon. She just wasn't expecting it to happen this soon. _

I wish that I could stay a child forever,  _ she thinks, pulling her quilt tighter around her shoulders.  _ If a place like Neverland exists, I wish I could be there.  _ She is dreaming of Neverland before she even falls asleep. _

_ But when she opens her eyes and finds herself far from home, cold and alone in a strange, dark jungle, it quickly turns to a nightmare. _

_ One that she finds herself unable to wake from. _

  
  


Emma wakes with a start. 

Something is wrong. 

_ Oh, god.  _ She tries to stop the quickened pace of her heart, takes a few deep breaths, but it's all in vain. She can't shake the feeling that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

And then she regains her bearings. And remembers.

Neverland. Dreamshade. Killian. Half of their crew taken by Pan. Again.

But no. That's not… That's not what's wrong.

She sits up, thankful for the bright light of the Neverland moon as it allows her to look around their small camp. Killian, Milah, Robin, and David are all sleeping soundly on their packs. And Mary Margaret is… 

_ Not _ sitting by the fire, as she has been every other morning. Emma knows she's restless — understands after her confession in the Echo Caves — but she has always been sitting beside David or tending to the fire.

"Mary Margaret?" she whispers, trying not to wake anyone else.

Silence.

She tries again, a little louder, but this time wakes Robin, whose Terren ears are more sensitive.

"Where is she?" he mumbles, half-awake but quickly sitting up.

"I don't know," she whispers. "But I was trying not to wake David. He doesn't need to wake up to this, on top of everything else." 

But it doesn't matter, and he stirs awake on top of his sleeping bag, quickly followed by Killian.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing," Emma says, shaking her head. "It's just — Mary Margaret isn't here."

"Oh," he says, scrubbing his face with his hand. "She's been going for walks around the edge of the camp when she can't sleep.” He gestures to the tree closest to him, and Emma notices the string tied around its trunk. "She never goes too far, and can always find me."

"Well, I tried calling her, but —"

"Really, Emma, I'm not worried about it." He chuckles. "Mary Margaret!" he calls. "Emma thinks you're missing!"

A beat passes.

And another.

Nothing around them makes a single noise. Not a fluttering leaf, not the snap of a twig. Just silence.

Now David seems worried, and he tries to call out to her again.

Nothing.

"Well, we just have to follow the string, right?" Killian tries, but even he sounds skeptical. "That should at least lead us in the right direction?"

"Yeah" David mumbles, quickly gathering his things, but he fails to keep the fear out of his voice, and it's even more obvious on his face when he looks up at Emma. "We have to — we have to find her."

Nodding, Emma follows suit and quickly begins packing her things. 

They stay silent as they follow the string, Robin even keeping his attention on her tracks. David was right, and the string doesn't take them far from the camp — but it ends too quickly. No more string, no more tracks...Nothing.

"She… She can't — She knows better than…" David sputters, and Robin sets this hand on the Prince's shoulder.

"We'll find her, mate," Killian says, still searching the ground around them for any clues. 

After a moment, Milan breaks the silence that has fallen around them: "Wait. Do you..." She holds her hand up, though they are all already silent. "Do you hear that?"

They try, really straining their ears. But nothing.

"It sounds like... crying."

Still, nothing.

"Should we... follow it?" Killian asks, and everyone turns toward David for guidance.

He turns his eyes down towards the end of the string in his hand and shrugs. "We certainly don't have many other options."

So they do, with Milah in front, closely followed by David and Robin, with Killian and Emma taking the rear.  Faster than any of them expected, they find themselves pushing through a tree line and into a clearing.

Well, not a clearing, exactly. Because hanging down from the canopies of the trees are cages, each holding one of their friends. Regina, Belle, Merlin, Graham, and Will, with Mary Margaret sleeping against one of the trees.

And... a sixth, hanging closest to where they broke through the trees. Even as their friends cheer about their arrival, Emma is focused on this last cage, trying to figure out why the blonde girl within it looks familiar.

"Hello, Emma Swan," she says, and finally, Emma remembers. The dream, with Liam Jones and this girl. She found her. She found them all.


End file.
